


Favorite Record

by ThePumpkinBot, Wreckerbooty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Functionalism (Transformers), Humor, IDW-1 Based Post-war, Inter-faction relationship, Multi, References to Addiction, Romance, Singing Competition, Slow Burn, hidden identities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 95,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26665963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePumpkinBot/pseuds/ThePumpkinBot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wreckerbooty/pseuds/Wreckerbooty
Summary: Separated by the war years ago, Rosanna and Glit are put in proximity to each other by chance due to an anonymous singing competition. When Rosanna, having become the pop-star she always wanted to be, serves as a panelist for the competition, she is reminded by one of the performers of a mech she knew a long time ago. Glit must remain hidden in order to have a chance at achieving his dreams after years of his own struggle to find normalcy after the war. This fic is complete and chapters will be posted weekly. Join us for this self-indulgent, sort-of song-fic, slow burn, romance between two characters that don’t get enough love. Please look for additional warnings/info at the start of every chapter.
Relationships: Rosanna/Glit
Comments: 20
Kudos: 21





	1. The Introduction

* * *

_“I know we don’t have the chance for proper goodbyes, and I’m sorry for that. We both knew this was going to happen eventually, I just wish… I just wish we had more time. Glit, thank you--for everything. I’m so, so happy I met you, and I really honestly wish you could stay. But you have to keep on being you, and being all that you are. Wherever you go, please… just make it through this. I’ll see you then, Glitty-kitty.”_

_-A long, long time ago_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Rosanna practically skipped up the steps to the panelist’s box to take her seat between Jazz and Crosscut, the small framed femme nearly vibrating in excitement for the show to begin. Dolled up for the occasion, her plating was polished to a shine and decorated with temporary decals that flashed in pops of holographic color against her pink and white scheme. Although she wasn’t the star of the show, she wanted to make sure everyone understood just how enthusiastic she was to be a part of this. A healthy thrum was already reverberating throughout the large studio, the audience buzzing in anticipation as the stage crew made their adjustments in preparation for filming. 

This event was going to be amazing. Cybertron was well along on the road to recovery after the war, and the planet felt primed to have a grand show like this. Cities and vital infrastructure were rebuilt after the mutual ceasefire between the two factions, everyone working together to rebuild and shape their home planet into something greater than it was before. For a long time, something as frivolous as an elaborate talent show felt far from possible. What was about to happen here--Rosanna felt--would both demonstrate and further foster the cultural growth their people have worked so hard for since they began making their peace. 

“Are you two excited to finally meet the contestants?” She chirped at her fellow panelists, her hands clasped together on the surface of their shared table. 

Jazz flashed a charming smile down at Rosanna. “I’m always here for music.”

The mech on the other side of her straightened his posture further as he was addressed. “Of course,” Crosscut chimed. “I will say however, as fun as this is going to be, I really do hope we get something of--” He gestured his wrist in the air, as if trying to snag the right word around his fingers, “--of _culture_ out of all this.” 

Jazz propped his elbow on the table and looked across at the former senator. “It’s all culture, mech. Just might not be culture you’re used to, so try to keep that in mind moving forward, yeah?”

The pink pop star clapped her hands together to punctuate the space between the two mechs, a cheerful smile on her face. “I think no matter what we’re going to get something new! And that’s what all this is for, right? We’re going to get to see people that otherwise wouldn’t have come forward with their talents, or would have been overlooked. This is a great opportunity for all of us to experience what our people have to offer!” 

Rosanna, Jazz, and Crosscut were all contacted by Blaster--her manager--to be enlisted as panelists for the competition, each for their own distinct backgrounds they could offer. They were to participate, listen, and engage the contestants and audience with feedback on the performances, acting in equal parts both entertainers and critics. Although their input was valued, the decision on who would win this competition ultimately rested with the audience.

Jazz was a face many could recognize from his position among the Autobots, but he gained a greater reputation post-war as a music connoisseur, familiar with both music and dance from a multitude of different cultures and origins and bringing them to Cybertron for eager listeners. He also carried the notorious reputation of having told Optimus Prime to ‘Shove it’, giving up his position with the Autobots as an example of how people could actively choose peace. 

The former senator, Crosscut, was chosen for his familiarity with Earth culture, his desire to be a patron of the arts, and the little renown he gained as an actor in self-written parts of plays. His face was recognized by potential viewers enough for various reasons to merit him his position as a panelist. That, and it was likely figured he would be a good personality counter for his two companions.

Rosanna herself was one of the biggest pop stars on the planet. During the war she was renowned for her morale boosting messages and upbeat music that graced the lines of communications, and she continued to push that identity into the emerging new society of Cybertron as a voice and image of encouragement and positivity. Her and several other mechs clung to the pieces of Cybertron’s musical and cultural history throughout the years, and became active advocates for finding, pushing, and encouraging talent where it could be found, both old and new. Needless to say, something like “ _Cybertron’s Brightest_ ” was extremely relevant to her interests. 

The femme’s attention strayed to below, where the host of their show was practicing his opening speech and interacting with the stage crew. 

“Rocksteady, would you please, _PLEASE,_ get to your mark, for the last time!” 

The navy colored mech made a gesture to his position on the ground. “Well actually, you see, I’ve always preferred to start my placement just right of center! Adds a bit of whimsical visual, I think.” He replied with a rich, warm voice and a beaming smile, gesturing at his pedes. The off-center lights playfully danced on the chunky metallic flake of the yellow gold flames on the lower panels of his legs. Rocksteady himself was a highly skilled musician before the war--and a well-known neutral face during its duration. Although fairly egotistical, he was a relatively good natured and safe choice for the role of host. 

“Yeah, well the cameras are ALL set up for you to be at center mark, so you’re gonna have to get over your ‘artistic license’ and just take a few steps to the center, PLEASE--” Rosanna giggled quietly to herself as the bickering continued, the smiling mech below finally conceding with false exasperation and taking an exaggerated step to the mark.

After Rocksteady got into position, the pieces started to fall into place for the actual start of filming, and that had Rosanna practically vibrating in her seat. The audience was primed after all the cajoling from the lively host and coordinators before the actual filming began, and their eagerness sent an energy throughout the entire room. The studio broke into applause when Rocksteady re-entered the stage and took his place, and again quieted on cue as their host opened the show.

“Mechs and femmes of all frames, sizes, and dispositions-- tonight we present to you the show of the millennia!” The crowd roared in enthusiastic cheering, colored lights flashing about the room to the thrall of noise.

“Now, we know you’ve all seen talent competitions before. You've seen shows that promise you surprises and upsets, spark seizing suspense and mind bending thrills, but I can absolutely guarantee you have never, **_ever_** seen a show like what we have in store for you tonight!”

“For you we’ve gathered a group of 12 completely anonymous first-time Cybertronian performers--quite possibly some of the best new musical talent the planet has to offer! The winner of the competition will get a signing deal with the very same studio group that signs some of the biggest and brightest musical artists on Cybertron--and let’s of course not forget that very large cash prize for our top three winners!”

“Our contestants here represent a wide spectrum of what Cybertron has to offer. We've got trucks, trains, planes, race cars, cassettes, and maybe even a few beast-modes thrown in for good measure! But every _single_ one of the people you see on this stage has a fair chance at blowing your mind and winning your sparks--no matter who they are, or where they come from!” 

“All of our contestants have been placed in new frames they’ve each envisioned for their musical personas, all built from scratch by our team of engineers and fueled by the contestant’s stage presence for the length of the competition. Each of them have come up with new names to secure their anonymity and to help leave behind that pesky stage fright. All of them will be living and practicing together here on studio grounds to help conceal their identities from friends, loved ones, employers, pesky rivals--and, y’know, whoever! No one but our scouting team knows who these people are, and they ain’t talkin!” 

“For the competition the contestants will be singing Earth songs to even ** _further_** remove them from anything that might give them away. These guys could be anyone--heck, even **_you_** might know someone up here. This competition is set to prove that it doesn't matter where you come from, it’s where you’re going.”

“Cybertron's newest show, with the newest talent--where we plan to uncover who has the best voxbox and the slickest moves-- _Cybertron's Brightest_!”


	2. Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glit introduction time! This chapter features "Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time" by Panic at the Disco. You knew the concept was a singing competition, right? We'll be putting together a playlist of all the songs that do show up in this fic (or were implied to have been sung) for funsies for anyone that might want to listen.
> 
> I'll also be posting designs of what Glam's frame looks like on my twitter (@thepumpkinbot), along with some of the other contestants and panelists. I have a fair chunk of art stocked up for this, so you'll have plenty of visual goodies to look forward to! Let me know if there's anyone in particular you'd like to see illustrated.
> 
> The update schedule for this fic is every Sunday morning. Have fun!

Glit’s life was in disarray. The sad thing about this statement was that, unfortunately, it really wasn’t news to anyone who knew him. His processor was in a fog, his vents cycling hard. Engex fueled his charisma, and his charisma kept the engex coming. The visual feed from his optics came in a tad slow and a tad blurry, but his voice was--as always--perfect. Some of the listeners could argue his cover of the song he was singing was better than the original in some places. Glit moved with confidence across the bar top, his well-placed paws falling neatly between glasses as he crossed them in a well-remembered dance. 

Every night this week he had become the impromptu floor show at this bar. Every night since he lost his job, he’d been _at_ this bar. It had been a haunt of his while he was gainfully employed as a medic, but now that he was neither gainful nor employed, he elected himself to become this establishment’s personal poltergeist. There was even a designated crate behind the bar he woke up in most mornings. The barkeep seemed to accept this arrangement, and not without a small bit of graciousness, as the mech was more often than not the one that placed the unconscious cassette in the crate. 

The song ended with the white feline mech giving a loud whoop before he stumbled slightly in his footing. His shoulder crashed against a clear spot on the bar top, the rest of him following in an exhausted drop of limbs and torso as people clapped and cheered. The sound brought back the briefest memory of a better moment in his life, but it was a glancing blow he was quick to shake off as he righted himself. Glit tucked his legs under his body in an attempt to make it appear like he was doing all of this on purpose, rather than him pushing on with the last dregs of his will. 

A new face purposefully shouldered its way through the bustling crowd of casual conversations and drinkers towards the bar. The mech smoothly grabbed and straddled the stool in front of the portion of bar-top where the cassette rested, the feline build cooling down from his zealous performance. Shots were slowly being stacked around the singer by the other bar goers, like offerings of innermost energon around a critical patient. 

“You’ve really got something there, you know,” the mech said, leaning slightly onto the bar top to make sure he had the cassette’s full attention. The newcomer’s paint scheme was perfectly matched, as if it had been specifically selected from a stylist’s lookbook, applied with intense scrutiny and pristinely polished to a high shine.

“I have several somethings.” Glit muttered. “Unemployment, a week’s worth of hangovers, and what remains of the best part of me. Just a few somethings.” Glit spread the toes of one of his paws and expertly threaded several of the shot glasses between them. In a show of manual dexterity not commonly associated with his frametype, he lifted the paw to his mouth, cocked his helm back and in a smooth, rolling motion tipped each glass individually, causing the liquid to spill into his mouth. 

“Alright, what is the best part of you?” The car mech asked with a tilt of his helm. His voice was colored in a note of genuine curiosity. 

A shiver traveled from the nape of the feline’s neck to the tip of his too-long-to-be-a-nub, too-short-to-be-full-length tail as he felt the burn of the drink in his throat. “I think that’s a matter of opinion, but I still have it. Whatever it is, I still have it.” He chuckled drunkenly, as if the meaning had been perfectly clear. His glass-laden paw was brought to rest on the bar’s surface. He slowly stretched his paws and toes, pushing the empty glasses away from him. He mellowed more with the fuel and yawned, his tongue curling slightly in his mouth. 

The roadster mech smiled and leaned forward, crossing his arms on the bar top. He lifted one of his hands to carefully move the empties, one by one, out of the way. “So what if I told you my opinion is that your voice is the best part of you?--” 

“I’d tell you, you need a better pick up line.” Glit interjected with a smirk. “Besides, in this place you can do better with that polish than _this_.” One of his paws rolled in a wave, indicating his own frame. He shifted into self-deprecating humor with the same ease of saddling his tool kits on his flanks. He pleasantly greeted and nodded to one of the bar’s regulars as they approached him to deposit another shot, the mech leaving with a smile and a pat to Glit’s helm. The overly-friendly gesture wasn’t something he really appreciated, but it often wasn’t worth making a scene over.

The sleek mech gave a frown at the momentary interruption, politely raising a hand in a wave and forced smile as the interloper left. He returned his attention to the drunk feline in front of him. “I work for a media company as a talent scout.” It was obvious in the mech’s slightly exasperated tone he had wanted to be smoother about this introduction, but it wasn’t worth wasting the effort on someone who spoke so plainly. “I’m trying to scout you for a potential singing competition. We are looking for a diverse group of Cybertronians--it’s part of the theme. Quarters, rations, salary are all part of the package, and there is a cash prize for the top three winners.” 

“How much?” The white and blue medic’s helm lolled to face the mech again, the slightest hint of a slur showing up in his speech for the first time. 

Gulping, the talent scout felt slightly caught off guard by the abruptness of the question. “The salary?” 

The feline’s gold optics glinted. “No. The prize.”   
  


* * *

“And that’s how I ended up here!” Glam put his hands on his hips and shifted his weight from one pede to another, the rotor blades of his build swaying behind him. The group of performers were all gathered together and sharing how they were recruited for the competition while waiting for the first run of the show. Dancers and some of the more dedicated contestants were doing warm ups for their routines. The energy backstage was at a high, the rumble of the audience heard and felt in the air and in the metal of the floor. 

Up until tonight everyone had practiced separately. Aside from the occasional glimpse of their fellow contestants amidst props and backup dancers, each mech and femme was still a mystery to each other. For the remainder of the competition they were all going to share dorms on studio grounds, so the space between now and the start of the show was a good opportunity to get to know each other and try to give some proper introductions.

A large femme truck that was going by the name Rager for the competition folded her arms over her chest as Glam finished his story. She would have come across as intimidating, but the curl of good-natured humor in her voice softened her question. “Sold your spark for shanix huh?” Her shoulders were one and half times Glam’s width, and she carried herself with a solid confidence. She didn’t have much fear of anything, and it was clear the stage wasn’t going to unnerve her either. Glam was already grateful at the news she was evidently going to be rooming with him--he had a pretty good feeling they’d get along. 

“Hey, something I learned is that everybody has a price, and they met mine.” The white and blue mech lightly shrugged as he looked up at the screen displaying the stage front where the host was opening the show with his introduction. The captions were turned on so the contestants could read the script as well. 

“Just ‘cuz you’se was unemployed?” A larger armored boat-former chimed in as he pulled himself up from the couch to stand beside the sleek mech that had been the focus of attention. It was obvious this mech was itching to be out in front of a crowd. He’d already admitted his day job was entertaining people and that he wasn’t here to win, but to have a good time. He loved being in the spotlight, and if his eagerness to comment was any indicator, he was used to demanding it, too. 

“Nah, my day job is one where there is always work and always people willing to pay for it.” Glam watched the monitor still, the captions mirrored on his visor. 

“So you’se a hooker.” The boat-former, who had been introduced not long ago as Ironsides, laughed at his own joke, and a few snickers rose from the others.

Glam’s optics left the screen and his face scrunched as he realized what he said could easily be applied to either a doctor or a sex worker. “I’m pretty sure everyone is for the right price.” He quite frankly didn’t care what people thought of him, passively returning his attention to what was happening on the monitor. He was way past the point in his life where he let the opinions of others dictate how he was going to live. Their planet had fought an entire war over that, after all. That aside, he also knew some really good people that made their living making folks happy like that, and he didn’t quite understand why they ended up the butt of so many jokes. Glam would have said as much if everyone hadn’t been in such good spirits, and he wasn’t willing to be labeled _that guy_ and kill the mood this early on. 

Another mech was looking on in the room, quirking a smile at the exchange. Tripper, as he was being called, wasn’t hired for his musical talent at all, but rather for his Primus given ability to be annoying as frag in order to add “dramatic interest” for viewers, and he was already starting to grate on nerves. Visually, he was white and painted with a brown cow-spot like pattern. He had a decorative set of fake bull horns mounted on his shoulders, red optics, and actual claw-tips on his fingers. It was obvious what kind of person he was supposed to parody, and Glam felt more than a little annoyed they were casting a Decepticon inspired-looking mech as a ‘villain’ in the competition. He had a guitar sitting beside him with a similar paint job, and was prepared to make an unholy racket on the stage when it was his turn.

The plan was to film two episodes back-to-back that day. Each episode would have a similar set up with six contestants making their debut, and one contestant going home at the end based on the audience’s votes. At the end of filming that day there would only be ten of them left. They didn’t have long to make an impression, having to mostly sell themselves with a song and whatever they could get away with. Some of the more nervous contestants were starting to go quiet as the bustle behind scenes was starting to intensify. 

They had been given their performance order once everyone was on set and accounted for. Glam was group one, fourth performance. He cycled air and looked back at the screen, grateful he wasn’t the poor mech that had to go first and set the tone for the show. It was soon time for the first contestant to go out, and after that things were going to go quickly. 

He slowly vented air out of his system, and silently wished for a drink. 

* * *

“Bravo! BRAVO!” Crosscut was on his feet clapping in grand applause, his optics bright and almost looking on the verge of tears. “That was truly magnificent! An outstanding masterpiece! This, my friends, is ART!” Crosscut was cheering in the judge’s box, his whole frame throwing itself into clapping for the mech on stage. Freight, the third contestant to perform, was a very large mech whose presence--and form--filled the stage. The visage of a large train paired perfectly with his loud, intensely reverberating version of Earth-based opera, having decided to give the piece a Cybertronian twist, hearkening to an old-fashioned and more unusual style of singing.

Rosanna chimed in after it seemed Crosscut was finished with his outpouring of compliments, grateful, in a way, that she was given a moment to think of what to say. She addressed the performer below with a sweet smile, gesturing gently as she spoke. “It takes a lot of dedication and skill to be able to perform and sound like that! Cybertronian voxboxes aren’t designed to go into those ranges, and--”

“Yeah, they sure aren’t,” Jazz interrupted, having looked a mix of exceedingly bored and put off throughout the performance, earning him a sharp elbowing to his side from the small femme and a round of laughter from the audience.

“--so I think _everyone here_ should be able to appreciate your talent and hard work! Thank you for giving us all that unique experience,” Rosanna chirped brightly and in turn gave Freight an encouraging applause, to which the audience responded in joining her. 

“Everyone give it up one more time for your local-vocal-powerhouse, Freight!” Rocksteady cued the mech’s exit off stage, leaving the audience with a deep bow and a proud strut out of sight. 

“And when we get back from our break we’ll be giving you something COMPLETELY different--I promise!” The navy mech turned to face the cameras, gesturing and winking as the studio began changing out the stage for the next performer. 

Rosanna exhaled in a sigh of relief as stage crew members began to filter out to entertain the audience and switch out lighting and effects gear, doing their part to keep those stuck in their seats eager and enthusiastic to participate. The break would only be a couple minutes to those tuning into the show thanks to the magic of editing, but it was a bit longer for everyone present. These seemingly brief moments of in-between let Rosanna gauge and prepare for how to navigate the next part of the show.

Crosscut was busy trying to secure another drink from one of the passing crew members as though they were waiters at a restaurant. Jazz was quiet and tracking movements of different bots as they scurried around the studio. For him old habits died hard, it seemed. Rosanna was very eager to get up and stretch her legs, but wasn’t technically allowed to leave the panelist box. She never quite liked sitting still for very long, and as much as she was enjoying this job, limitations on movement were somewhat maddening to the notoriously energetic pop-star. 

She got up from her seat and raised an arm in a full-body stretch, play-sneaking behind Crosscut to act like she was going to escape. 

“Let me know if you make it,” Jazz chuckled at her, leaning heavily back in his seat to glance over at the pink femme with a toothy smirk. 

“Come now, Rosanna, surely you can be patient a while longer. We’ll be getting a longer break between this group and the next, and _then_ you can get up and walk the room, do some pirouettes, or whatever it is you’re needing to get out of your systems,” her other panelist chimed. “Aren’t you entertained?” There was an air of taunting in his voice as he proceeded in taking a sip of the drink that was brought to him. 

“Of course I am!” Rosanna replied, turning to lean against the wall of the box. “It’s just--I mean, the people they’ve brought forward have all been talented, but. None of them have really got my spark _racing_ , you know?” She pouted slightly, gesturing earnestly to her chest.

“Well _I_ thought Freight was just absolutely riveting,” Crosscut replied, pressing a hand to his chassis. 

“You would…” Jazz quietly muttered, still leaning back in his chair as he threw Rosanna a meaningful look that spoke ‘this was going to be a long show’. 

After a few more exchanges of banter, Rosanna returned to her seat as the countdown to the next performance was announced. After a few more minutes, the cue for filming to resume was given, the audience once again starting up in applause. 

“And we’re back with _Cybertron’s Brightest_!” Rocksteady addressed the cameras and the audience. “We’ve rocked out with Vanquish, we snapped away to the rhythmic melody of spoken word with Bitrate, and rode the crescendos of operatic passion with Freight. Now that you’ve had a moment to let that all sink in, it’s time to look alive! About to hit the stage is a mech whose name alone strives to wow and amaze you. Hold onto your seats, because you’re about to get hit with--Glam!”

The stage lights dipped into near darkness, and the studio went quiet. No introductory audio clip started to play, already setting itself apart from the other performances. This mech didn’t want to give a spiel about themselves--they were intending to let the music do the talking.

Rosanna’s hands were eagerly clasped together in front of her on the table, her optics scanning the dark in anticipation as hushed whispers filtered out from the audience. Finally, the sound of an electric guitar broke through the dark and silence, and a clear, masculine voice started to chant with the rising noise.

_“All right, all right--”_

Lights began to pulse in time to the music, revealing the outline of a figure slowly walking out onto the stage. 

_“_ _Alright_ ** _, alright-_ ** _-”_

The stage lit up with a blinding amount of light as the singer broke out into the full force of the song, the crowd now cheering and moving to the heavy circular rhythm of the music.

_“Alright, alright, it's a hell of a feeling though!_

_It's a hell of a feeling though!”_

The pulsing lights and loud blare of the instruments came to a halt as he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the light and scan the audience, everyone’s attention on his form and on his voice, finally able to really see him. He was a stunningly handsome white and blue copter, his plating a glossy shimmer under the stage lighting, gold visor playfully bright as his rotors fanned out behind him.

_“Who are these people?”_

_I just woke up in my underwear”_

_“No liquor left on the shelf--_

_I should probably introduce myself.”_

The mech casually and comfortably strutted across the stage, making complete eye contact and engaging his audience as he mimed tipping a hat and using a mic stand to imitate a cane.

_“I was the king of this hologram_

_Where there's no such thing as getting out of hand!”_

Rosanna was mesmerized as she watched this mech work the stage, taking in how he moved, how he smiled, how he threw glances and toothy, cheeky grins at his onlookers. The contestants had the majority of the say in what could be done in the presentations of their performances and setting the stage within reason--and this mech knew what he was doing. He knew how to get people’s attention when he wanted it, and he knew how to keep it. It screamed this was the only introduction he needed to make his point for what he was about.

_“This night is heating up_

_Raise hell and turn it up”_

_“Saying ‘if you go out you might pass out in a drain pipe’_

_Oh yeah, don't threaten me with a good time!”_

_  
  
_

The mech was a joy to watch, and the crowd was eating it up. The lyrics of the song were trashy and fun--relatable to those who want and idolize having _that_ kind of night, and a spectacle for those who would rather avoid it. He had fun and familiar footwork that brought a smile to Rosanna’s eyes at the line ‘ _fancy feet_ ’. It was lively and entertaining, and the mech matched his movements to the imagery, pacing the stage and encouraging the audience to join him in the repetitive lines that were oh-so-easy to chant.

_“Champagne, cocaine, gasoline_

_And most things in between!”_

Rosanna was practically on the edge of her seat. It was probably a large part of the bias she had for her favorite musical genre, but this was the kind of performance she was hoping to experience. Pop was popular for a reason, after all. The audience was geared up, cheering, pulsing, and absolutely _living_ for everything that was being given to them.

_“This night is heating up_

_Raise hell and turn it up_

_Saying "If you go out you might pass out in a drain pipe"_

_Oh yeah, don't threaten me with a good time!”_

The stage was plunged into darkness again at the last line, and the audience broke out into a roar of cheers and applause, Rosanna’s own voice piercing through the dark in an excited shriek. 

“And that was Glam, performing ‘Don’t threaten me with a Good Time’ by Panic at the Disco!” Rocksteady looked around in exaggerated fashion, as through hunting for the white and blue mech on the stage. “I was gonna ask if he had anything to say, but it looks like he had another party to get to! We’ll have to catch him next time, am I right, folks?” 

The audience cheered, but Rosanna was disappointed that Glam didn’t stick around. It definitely left everyone with a sense of mystery and wanting to know more, she could admit--which honestly, was pretty smart.

“And what do our panelists have to say about all that? All that? Right there.” Rocksteady gestured behind and moved his arm in a wide circle, turning to the box where Rosanna, Jazz, and Crosscut were sitting. “Rosanna, my dear, you look like you’re about to jump out of the box. Have a few words to share?” 

Rosanna did her best to collect herself instead of releasing a jumble of incoherent noises. “I--that was--yes!” She blurted. “That was AMAZING!” She thudded her hands on the table, much to Crosscut’s disdain. “THAT is how you WORK A CROWD!” She belted. “That is how you make a first impression!” The crowd cheered.

“Mech made some smart moves,” Jazz replied. “And he has talent to back it up. But you see, the problem here is that he’s set the bar—“ he raised a hand level with his optics. “—right about here. And he’s going to have to work extra hard to push it higher, or keep it there. So, good luck, Glam! Looking forward to it.” 

Rocksteady turned to the last panelist who had a furrowed frown on his face, looking pretty sour. “And how about you, Crosscut? Are you a Glam fan?” 

“Hrmph,” came the mech’s response. “It’s nothing we haven’t seen before.” He paired the words with a small, dismissive wave.

Rosanna leaned back in her seat to look over at Crosscut. “Yeah? Got something to say about pop, old-timer?”

“Oh no, I don’t have anything to say at all on that matter,” he replied, comically turning his head away from Rosanna.

“Haha, oh I bet you _do_!” She smiled brightly, her voice pitching up to an almost threatening note. 

“ANYWAY!” Rocksteady interrupted the two, Jazz’s shoulders shaking as him and the audience laughed. The host moved to introduce the next mech to perform--Jettsetter, a mech with a lot of spark, a lot of soul, and a lot of love to give. The stage was cleared away again, with only the mic stand left behind to stand alone on the stage.

A gentle looking teal and maroon jetformer walked out with the audience’s applause, carrying an instrument across his front and a stool out towards the mic stand--stumbling slightly in his step as he looked around at the crowd. He placed the chair down and took a seat, looking around at the audience as he grabbed the mic and adjusted it to his height. His wings hitched up slightly in a bit of nervous alertness. 

“Well--gee, that’s sure a hard act to follow isn’t it? Haha--” The mech smiled and began cutely strumming a few strings of his instrument. “Y’know, I’m not used to playing for groups as big as this. Usually I’d be able to reach out and shake one of your hands but, Primus you’re all so far away!” His voice slightly pitched in lighthearted anxiousness. 

Rosanna leaned forward with her chin in her hands, visor bright, still living off the energizing high and renewed optimism from Glam’s performance, eager for the sound this sweet-looking mech had in store. 

“Anyway--even if I can’t reach out and take your hand, I hope you’ll still lend your audios--and maybe your sparks--to have a listen to my song. This is ‘One Love’ By Michael Bernard Fitzgerald.”

* * *

People said lightning didn’t strike the same place twice. Glam’s optics were locked on the screen in the contestants lounge. It was her. He heard she was going to be a panelist after he was scouted, but it hadn’t quite sunk in until he _saw_ her, until he _heard_ her enthusiastic voice from backstage as he tried to calm his vents from the performance. His frame felt near electrified. It was the second time in his life he’d ended up in front of her by chance.

The helicopter was locked in on watching the screen. He could no longer hear her voice over the sound of everything else, but when the camera was on Rosanna he could pick up on the subtleties in her movements and tells in her body language that he, once upon a time, had been more familiar with. The white and blue mech shook his head. That was nearly a whole war ago. 

A stagehand’s head poked into the room, “Hey everyone! Rosanna is going to be stopping by shortly. So uh. Just a heads up!” The warning dragged his attention away from the monitor. The filming must have ended, and Glam had been caught up in his thoughts while staring at a screen that was now black in standby. 

Rager approached the blue and white mech with two glasses of energon in hand, nudging him slightly as she came to his side. “Hey, roomie. You’ve been staring at that screen since you got back here, you doin’ alright?” The large femme tilted her helm and very intentionally offered out one of the glasses in an attempt to further shift Glam’s attention. 

His optics met Rager’s through his visor as he tried to refocus, his gaze shifting to the energon being held out to him. Primus, that wasn’t what he really wanted. He forced up a smile and dismissively waved a hand, signalling he wasn’t going to take the drink. Logically, he knew he didn’t look like himself. He knew he wouldn’t be recognized by Rosanna, but that didn’t stop the gearing up of his systems. Glam was prepared to lie to strangers, to a crowd of endless faces that would want to forget him once this was all over, but he wasn’t prepared to lie to _her._

“I’m going to step out for a minute. I’ll take that when I get back?” He forced his way through those two short sentences. It was obvious the helicopter now lacked the bravado he carried before and during his performance, something mysteriously whisking it away to leave behind a mech that looked ready to enter flight at the first opportunity--which, evidently, was now. 

“Uh, yeah, sure. We’ll see you back here in a minute then.” Rager took a long drink from her glass as she watched the smaller mech turn to take his leave. 

Glam’s head ducked slightly in a meager show of determination as he left the room into the rest of backstage, eager to find somewhere to hide. This wasn’t the first time since he’d been transferred into this frame that he regretted his newly gained size, but he was definitely cursing it now. Though being small came with its own disadvantages, it at least meant there were always places out of the line of sight he could scurry into to wait things out, but not now. Now he had to get creative.  
  


Glam looked up, noticing most of the stagehands had left the catwalks. He didn’t break his stride. Worse than getting caught in the lounge would be getting caught out here as the center of attention. He found one of the access ladders and promptly began his ascent. He got himself situated along the catwalk and sat, letting his legs thread between one of the dividers and hang down while he propped his crossed arms on the railing to shield his face.

Even here he felt an inward twinge of nostalgia. He remembered sitting with her, singing with her, talking through evenings with her in high up places like this away from the world and those that would intrude. Maybe her proximity was what had inspired him to look up for a place to hide at all. A shuddering vent caught him off guard as he tried to level out. It wasn’t like he actually thought it was possible he was still important to her. He was probably being egotistical to even think she would have committed him to memory at all. It was a long time ago. 

Glam shuttered his optics in an attempt to preserve the thin filament that lined them. He refused the swell of an urge to play her goodbye again, but he didn’t need to hear it. He already knew the message; He just had to make it through this. Make it through the competition, get one of the cash prizes, and get out. From there he could do what he always wanted to do, and no one could tell him no. 

He waited until an acceptable period of time had passed. Enough for him to lie and say he had stepped out to take a call, enough for Rosanna to have hopefully made her visit and gone. He wasn’t ready to face her just yet, but she wasn’t avoidable forever. Moving as quietly as he could he left the catwalk and climbed back down. Glam slid back into the room hoping to go unnoticed.

Rager, however, did notice. The large femme tried to discreetly sidle up to the copter, slightly leaning down so she didn’t have to speak at full volume. “So when did pretty, pink pop stars start spooking ya?” Her voice was filled with a kind humor tinged with genuine curiosity.

The corner of his mouth turned down as he looked in the larger femme’s direction. He wasn’t exactly feeling up to having a discussion about it in a room full of strangers. “Where’s my drink?” He playfully motioned at her with his hand. 

Rager took the hint, her expression softening around the edges. “Here,” she replied, holding out the glass she had, evidently, still been holding for him. “You doing alright?” 

Gently he took the glass. His grip was light in a practiced way, and his finger traced a segment of the edge before he brought it up to drink from. “It’s fine.” He paused and belatedly felt a small bit of gratitude flare for her concern. “Thanks for asking.” Exhaustion crept into his tone.

“It’s been a long day.” Rager lightly clapped a hand against his back. “You wanna go find our room? I think I’m about finished here, anyway.” She quirked a smile at him, gesturing to the door with her helm. 

Glam knocked back his drink and reached past Rager to set it on a table. “ _That_ sounds like a good plan.” He rubbed at his face and knew what was expected of him. The air that he’d put on earlier meant he’d have to maintain a certain level of energy. He cycled fresh air deep into his systems and made his voice a bit louder, then dredged up a bit of confidence, “Hey, we’re heading out! Practice starts early after all.” 

Rager turned her helm towards the rest of the room, raising a hand in a casual wave as she already began to take her exit. “Later!” 

* * *

Exiting, the two walked together toward the corner of the studio lot where the dorm building was located. The entertainment industry was still rebuilding itself, and after many long years of being at war, the benefits of communal housing to save space and money wasn’t forgotten. It was easy to fall into conversation with each other, recounting the day and their feelings on what happened.

Voting had been more stressful than either of them wanted to admit. Two mechs were already leaving the competition, though they would be staying for at least a few more days while their frames were being prepped for transfer. Bitrate had been voted off from the first group after his spoken word performance and was revealed as a mech named Sky-Byte, who Jazz apparently knew. The panelist and performer comically bickered, Jazz stating he knew exactly who he was as soon as he opened his mouth and questioned why in the pits Sky-Byte thought he could keep his identity hidden from him at all. 

Spotlight was the one leaving from the second group. He was an Autobot named Searchlight, and chose to perform in a frame similar to a construction mech decorated with yellow and black caution bars, which went along well with his heavy metal persona. His performance was, unfortunately, a little overwhelming for the majority of the crowd and resulted in his early departure. Both mechs' identities had been revealed; one former Autobot and one former Decepticon. They still had exit interviews to do where they would further voice who they were and why they participated. 

Glam felt a discomfort rise in his fuel tank at that reminder--that he himself would eventually have to give one of those exit interviews and be revealed for who he was. If he had any say in how things went with this competition, though, he wouldn’t have to shed this identity anytime soon. With Rosanna bearing witness to this now, it was extra incentive to hold that off for as long as possible. 

The pair found their room and keyed the code to enter. The accommodations were modest, but comfortable and clean. Divided in two, they each had their own recharge slab, a small desk with a light, and a storage unit with large drawers. Light filtered in from the evening outside through a large bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. The two went to their respective sides to begin settling in and arranging their belongings to make the room more comfortable.

Glam lacked any visible personal items, save for a discrete metal case decorated with a single medical cross that was placed on the desk on his side of the room. It was oddly barren for the mech, and it struck Rager as weird that someone’s only personal effects could be summarized with a small kit of medical supplies. She could pick up on Glam’s unease in his shoulders and the withdrawn way he moved, reminding her of his behavior earlier in the lounge.

“So, anyway. What’s going on with you and Rosanna?” The large femme asked as she arranged the few items she’d brought along with her to the competition. “She kick your puppy? Break your spark? Report you for tax fraud?” 

The mech was already laying on his back on his recharge slab. He shifted onto his side to look at Rager as she was caught in a debate between where to set a tin of polish and a mug that said ‘World’s Best Bodyguard’. “It’s nothing like that.” He shook his head. “She didn’t kick my boltpup. She didn’t break my spark. And no, she didn’t report me for tax fraud.” He had a small smirk, though the predominant expression from him was weariness. 

After finally deciding her mug should be placed on the desk and the polish placed on her storage unit, she flopped onto her recharge slab and propped her chin on the heel of her hand. “So, I guess the question then is did you kick _her_ puppy? Did you break _her_ spark? Did you report _her_ for tax fraud?”

“No, I didn’t kick her puppy.” His vocal tempo stumbled as he had to think a moment. “I didn’t break her spark and--who reports people for tax fraud?” His tone was colored with humored exasperation. 

“You hesitated on that second one, you know.” Rager countered and looked Glam up and down. “Sooo, she an ex?” She watched as the other’s optics looked down at the floor. He slowly vented air. She didn’t do her job for as long as she had to not be able to pick up on his cues of distress.

“No, it’s not like that. I--I was never that important.” Glam said, still not looking at his roommate. His voice was heavy. “It was a long time ago, Rager. She probably doesn’t even remember me.” 

“You’re being awful presumptuous about that,” the femme responded flatly. 

The helicopter build chuckled in a short, dismissive way. “I’m not that memorable and it was a very short period of time. It meant a lot to me, but she has a lot going for her. She’s done a lot.” He was still living how he did during the war. Day by day, and hoping things would eventually get better. Nothing much had changed for him, so their meeting--their time spent together--held welded into his memory. “It was only for a few years, several million years ago. _Most of the war_ ago.” 

Rager held out her hand in his direction, as if preparing to lay down a groundbreaking idea. “Okay, but let me put it to you this way. Everyone remembers that _one sandwich_ .” She held her hands out in front of her as though the idealized sandwich floated between them. “You may have had it only once--or the place you got it from went out of business or got bombed by a heartless squadron of aerial troops who apparently hated good food, but you remember it, and it was the _best damn sandwich you ever had_. And you remembered and hoped beyond hope, that you might be able to have it again, or find one just as good.” 

A smile pricked at the corners of the white and blue mech’s mouth, “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

“I just want my goddamn sandwich, Glam.” There was an honest and playful intent to the words. It took a moment for her to get herself back on track for her motivational blurb. “All I’m saying is don’t discredit yourself. If the time you two had was that meaningful to you, chances are, it was pretty damn meaningful to her, too. You might just be that one sandwich for somebody.” She rolled over on her recharge slab to face the wall. “Now go get some beauty recharge--not that you need it with that face.” 

Glam let himself ease back on the slab since it was evident Rager was finally settling down. He yawned as his systems tried to regulate for recharge. Shuttering his optics he laid there with his thoughts. It was hard to not think back to that time on the Autobot base. She had been so excited to meet him then. She wanted him for his voice at first, then eventually she wanted his company. He didn’t belong at that base as a Decepticon, but he had felt like he belonged with her. 


	3. A Long, Long Time Ago Part 1

_“Most of a war ago…”_

It was the voice again. Rosanna halted mid-step as the familiar sound drifted through the air and met her audios. 

She first heard it while spending an evening getting drinks with the other mechs in communications at the bar on base. It was a bustling evening crowded with both bodies and voices, but above all the noise, someone began to sing. It trickled over the crowd carelessly, rising and falling with ease and without restraint. Before she could excuse herself to find the source of the mysterious voice, it stopped. 

The second time she heard the voice was when she was in the middle of a comms call with Twirl. It was a different song, a different place, but unmistakably the same person she heard before. To her disappointment, Twirl didn’t know the identity or the source of the culprit either, and it stopped before either of them could go investigate. 

She heard the voice again while she was in the rec hall, on several of her walks around base when she was making her rounds checking on people, and when she was helping out in the docking bay. Every single time she was too far away to investigate, and no one was in the know of who the culprit was. Needless to say, it was driving her a certain kind of insane.

Rosanna bolted down the hallway in the direction the melody was coming from. Someone called out to her in passing, but she paid them no heed. She wasn’t going to let this voice escape her again. Beautiful voices were hard to come by these days, moreso difficult to find those willing to so freely be shared. She had to know who else on this base carried music so brightly in their spark. 

Her pedes pounded against the floor as the voice led her down the hall. She skittered haphazardly around a corner into the medical wing, her spark thrumming, knowing she was close as the voice got louder and louder. Finally, at last, she launched herself full speed through the final doorway, arm extended and finger thrust forward in accusation at the owner of the voice as she slid across the smooth surface to a halt. “YOU!”

A small patch of dust and the squeal of a metal heel scraping on the metal floor announced the arrival of the pink and white bot as much as her shout. The medic was sitting on top of a work table sorting recently cleaned tools. He looked around at the near empty medbay, and cycled his optical shutters in a moment of confusion. Lifting a paw, he pointed a single digit at his face. “Me?” His voice tilted up in almost a hopeful, comedic manner. Tools were spread around him in small piles, limiting how much he could move in response. He didn’t remember the femme, but unfortunately with his drinking habit, that didn’t remove the possibility he may have caused some offense _she_ would remember. 

“Yes, you!” She exclaimed with a smile, her visor brightening. “You were the one singing just now, weren’t you?” Her voice lilted up in determined, excited accusation. 

There was a slow shuttering of his optics as air cycled out of his vents in relief. It was just about his singing and not some personal affront, unless she considered it an affront to her audios. “It’s me.” He went back to sorting the bin that sat between his hind paws with a small quirk of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Finally, _thank you_ !” She drew her arms inward excitedly, her voice pitching with giddiness. “I’ve been trying to figure out who’s been singing around base for _weeks_ now, I’m so happy!” She walked more into the room and approached the work table, a smile beaming on her face. “My name’s Rosanna, it’s great to meet you!” She extended a hand out towards the mech in greeting.

The feline cassette looked at the orderly mess that surrounded him. “I - uh- er-” He carefully extracted himself from his work with delicately placed steps, precariously balancing three of his paws on the edge of the table to avoid knocking his tools out of order, holding the remaining paw out for her to shake. “Glit. Guess I did get let out a couple weeks ago now.” 

Rosanna watched and realized he had to carefully step over the array of tools to meet her outstretched hand, and she ducked her helm abashedly as she shook his paw. “Sorry I’m interrupting your work, Glit. I kinda have a habit of getting tunnel vision when I’m excited.” She tilted her helm quizzically at him. “You say you were let out, though?” 

He adjusted his paws after the greeting in an attempt to solidify his footing. A bit of his teeth flashed in an embarrassed smile. “Happens every time I come through this base. They have to call the commander and verify clearance, and sometimes the head of security likes to hold things up for a few days and wreck my kits trying to find something. Then I’m there for a few days having my pockets shook out and bored out of my processor.” The medic’s head bobbed back and forth as he listed each step of the process, as though he was following the motions of a cube in a cube match.

“Why would they put you through that every single time you come here?” She asked, placing her hands on her now quirked hips. “You’re with medical, right? That doesn’t make any sense for them to be so ridiculous.” 

“I’m lucky to be allowed on base at all.” Glit twisted and put his right shoulder on display. It was emblazoned with a vivid yellow Decepticon sigil. “I don’t carry weapons. Part of my medic oath, and I’m going to stick by it as long as I can, but the shakedown still happens.” It was obvious he knew himself to be an oddity. He was a medic without hands, an enlisted mech without a weapon, and currently a Decepticon on an Autobot base. He lived his life as an exception. 

Rosanna refreshed her optics several times as she stared at the sigil, taking in the mech’s words and their implications. She was silent for a moment, trying to come to a conclusion about how she should feel and react to this information. After a time of seriously weighing and tracking the details, she very matter-of-factly, perkily, uttered, “Huh!” After another moment, she decidedly looked up at the feline mech’s face and genuinely smiled. “You know, I think I can say for certain I’ve never met someone quite like you, Glit.” 

“Yeah, Primus ran out of contradictions to use.” He quipped smoothly. He felt one of his hind paws begin to slide off the edge of the table. His optics went large in the split moment of realization he wouldn’t be able to stop the motion. His foot slipped off entirely, his tail nubbin slammed into the table top, his hindquarters followed the leg, and knocked his front limbs off their perch. His mass fell gracelessly off the work table and into a pile on the floor. 

Rosanna was able to move out of the way before the mass of the mech knocked into her as well, sliding backwards to avoid impact. “OH NO, are you okay?” She exclaimed, motioning forward in an attempt to help the feline build. 

Glit righted himself and waved off the concern. “I’m good, just don’t ask me to dance. So uh- did you need something in the medbay, Rosanna?” 

“Well, I did come here to find the mech that was singing. And he’s here in the medbay, soooo technically, yeah,” she replied with a humorously crooked grin and a flippant quirk of her helm and hands. “I should probably let you get back to work, but would you wanna hang out and get some energon when you’re finished here?” Her grin shifted into a hopeful, cheerful smile. 

Glit’s own helm tilted and his optics looked at her from the side. “I’m just extra on the schedule so I can be done whenever, but if you’re trying to get me to sing that’s going to be a lot of engex.” He moved into a crouch and gave a barely perceivable wiggle before hopping onto the table again. “I don’t have that kind of confidence.” 

“Aww, you have such a beautiful voice to be shy about it, but. I get it!” She shifted to standing sideways to the table. “I won’t lie and say hoping for a duet at karaoke isn’t part of it, but I’m mainly wanting to get to know the mech _behind_ the voice!” She made a playfully grand gesture with her hands and a small wiggle of her own in his direction. “If you don’t mind this peppy pink femme’s company, of course!” 

Her gestures kept the smile on his face. She actively wanted to be around him, and who was he to deny her his company. “I guarantee you I’m not that interesting to get to know.” This was punctuated by a small shake of his head. “But you can spend an evening suffering to learn that on your own. Later, after mid-shift, I might get to the rec hall early and get some pre-social engex in me to soften your disappointment. If I owe you a song for putting up with me, you’ll have to let me know.”

Rosanna beamed at him, “I really don’t think I’m going to be disappointed, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try to convince you for a song anyway.” She winked behind her visor at him and motioned to turn, raising a hand to wave over her shoulder. She sent him a short distance ping with her personal comms line. “I’ll see you later, Glit!” 

She hurried out of the medbay, turning the corner before she could give him a chance to respond further. Rosanna smiled quietly to herself, stifling a giddy laugh under her breath as she rapidly, lightly clapped her hands together. She finally solved the mystery of her elusive singer, and he was just as interesting and unique as she hoped he would be--and a great deal more. There were so many questions she had for him, and she couldn’t help but feel a certain stirring of familiarity, somehow, even though she could say with absolute certainty she never met him before. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she was sure she’d figure it out eventually. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These flashbacks will happen intermittently as the story progresses <3


	4. Hurricane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song featured in this chapter is "Hurricane" by Panic at the Disco. We think Glit's voice would have a similar range and tone to Brendan Urie's, but that's not the only artist we're going to be pulling songs from for him, haha.

They were a few days into the next week when Rosanna and Jazz were tasked with walking the workroom to do backstage interviews with the contestants. Everyone was in the midst of practicing and planning their routines for the second round, dancers and staff bustling around with the flow of production. It was background noise that felt like home to Rosanna, and it energized her every step. She was excited to get a preview of what everyone had in store for the next filming.

Rosanna and Jazz split the contestants between themselves to better utilize their time. Although she would much rather do this without a camera drone following in her shadow, she understood the producers wanting the footage for time filler for when the episodes aired. She used the opportunity to point out dancers she worked with before and to cheerfully greet crew members, never one to shy away from dropping names and trying to get people recognized for their work. 

The competition was moving along at a good pace. Now that she had a taste of the available talent, the pop star was extremely eager to see more of what everyone had to offer. After the first show ended, she seized the opportunity to introduce herself properly to the contestants. Rosanna never wanted to come across as unapproachable, or as someone who put herself above other’s station. That wasn’t what she was about. If anything, she wanted to make sure the participants of this competition felt like they could look to her as a resource for information and guidance. She wanted to get to know and understand each person here, and offer support to help make their dream a reality.

She was sad, however, that two of the people she just met were already sent home. She couldn’t help but empathize with them, knowing how hurtful and stressful it would have been if the start of her career hinged on her first impression in front of a major audience, and was then told  _ you weren’t good enough. _ Before Sky-byte and Searchlight left, she made sure to take them aside and give them words of encouragement. Both mechs were gifted in what they did, and she wanted to deter them from giving up on pursuing what they wanted, and help them understand that this experience didn’t define them. 

Among the remaining contestants, it would be untruthful to say she didn’t have favorites, nor would she say there weren't some she didn’t particularly care for. Rosanna wasn’t too happy when she learned there were people here who didn’t care about winning at all, but were rather chosen for--as Sky-byte phrased it--“flavor”. When the show was pitched to her, she was made to believe every person brought on was passionate about wanting to break into the music industry and had a real, wanting drive for an opportunity they normally wouldn’t have otherwise. There were people here for the sole fact they knew one of the panelists--which she was admittedly intensely curious about, as it was noted that one of them had a connection with her. However, knowing that someone was cast an acting role specifically to cause drama in the competition for added interest, honestly made her tank churn. 

But, there was no changing it now. Not like she would have had a say in it in the first place, as these were decisions made by the producers. She was just a star credited name brought along for participation and to further attract viewership. All she could do now in her position was underscore and provide intense support to those that needed it, and try to sway the audience in the right direction. 

These backstage interviews were one such opportunity to put some positive energy and support towards those she was pretty sure were trying to make a name for themselves. The first contestant on her list was Windy--a pink racer build femme who both Rosanna and the audience absolutely  _ adored _ . She was magenta pink in color, her scheme finished with a metallic flake that glistened under any direct lighting that told she wanted to be both seen  _ and _ heard. She pulled off an amazing, highly energetic and grabbing cover to “Break Free” by Earth’s Ariana Grande, an artist Rosanna herself really liked, definitely making a statement about how much of a powerhouse the femme was going to be in the competition.

With her camera drone at the ready and recording, Rosanna entered the first workroom. Windy was working with one of the choreographers when the smaller femme came up, waving to get her attention. “Hi, Windy!” Rosanna greeted boisterously, her smile bright. Her and Windy hit things off really well, both mutually excited to meet the other. “Do you mind if we borrow some of your time? We’re going around today trying to let your audience have a chance to get to know you a little bit better!” 

The racing build smiled brightly at Rosanna’s appearance, even her optics seeming to light up as the smaller femme approached. It was clear by her disposition that any nervousness Windy may have had was brutally shoved down by her drive to succeed. She was going to be peers with Rosanna, and knew she was just as good. “That’s great! But I can’t say too much, you know the rules and all.” She cutely brought one of her shoulders forward. “What questions do you have?” Her eagerness to please was evident, as well as the femme’s overwhelming need to be liked.

“I’m mainly wanting to hear about how you’re doing, and how you’re feeling about being here!” Rosanna replied. “If your performance from last week says anything about you at all, it’s that you’re really in it to win it.” There was something intensely familiar about Windy’s disposition. It harkened to how Rosanna behaved very early on when she was trying to make herself known.

“I am.” Windy’s determination bled through. “There is nothing I want more. I have a dream and I want everyone there for me when I get it.” Her hand was grasped in front of her chest. “I have always loved singing. It hasn’t always been the easiest to find an audience, but I’m going to try my hardest every week to make sure I’m giving my best.” 

A warm softness crept into the glow of Rosanna’s optics and smile. “That’s  _ exactly  _ what I like to hear. Windy, I just want to say that I  _ absolutely love _ what you’re putting out here—girl, the way you hit those notes! We need more femmes in this industry, and I can’t stress enough how excited I am to see more of what you have to share with us.” She was a person that needed to be acknowledged, seen, and heard—and Rosanna understood. 

“That aside, how are you doing with the training regiment? I know the time crunch can be a bit stressful for some that aren’t used to it, but how are you faring in preparation for your next song?” Rosanna’s voice was bright, her eagerness and supportive tone unwavering. 

“I’m actually pretty used to running down to the minute, so it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Windy confidently dismissed the concern with a light wave. “My former job was actually a lot more strict about timing. So this is actually quite relaxing. I mean,” she held out a hand to catch what she was saying, “don’t get me wrong, there are some stressful things, but overall I’m in charge of how stressful I make it. How good I am depends on how much work I put into being good.” The racing build smiled. She genuinely seemed pleased to be that in control.

“And that’s the exact way to look at it,” Rosanna chirped brightly. “I don’t want to steal away too much of your time though, so we’ll let you get back to it! Thanks for talking with us, Windy! I’m sure you have something great in store for us.” 

“Well, time to get back to work. See you later this week!” Windy signed off perfectly looking at the camera drone and giving a small cutesy wave with her hand near to her face before retreating back to her dance crew. Once there she gave an exaggerated wave. 

Rosanna replied with a wave of her own to the diva-in-the-making before turning to go to another part of the studio lot. Windy was trying very hard, but Rosanna knew the femme would grow more comfortable with time. “Now, our next performer has been pretty elusive so far, but we’re hoping to catch him while he’s practicing.” She looked at the camera, raising a finger to her lips in a playful shushing motion, as if she was going to be sneaking up on the mech.

She opened a door to the next room that was supposed to be occupied by Glam, smiling in relief and excitement as she saw the mech working with a larger framed dance partner she recognized from having worked with him before. A choreographer known for very intensive routines was standing off to the side of the room in observation before he looked up upon their arrival. He looked pleased. Rosanna resisted calling out to the duo, rather letting them finish the run instead of breaking their focus and potentially causing an accident--which with Stockade, the dance partner--was more likely to occur than not if he became distracted. 

The song that was up for the week was playing quietly, the tick of a metronome loud in the work area. The back-up dancers were still running through motions, but Stockade and Glam came to a halt as the large mech pulled the helicopter back to his feet from a dip. A clap from the choreographer drew both their attentions to the door. 

Stockade immediately perked. “Rosanna!” 

Glam blinked dumbly at the femme near the door with a camera drone trailing behind her. He didn’t know that she was going to be dropping by. If he had bothered to check his messages that morning he would have seen the notice, but unfortunately--as always--he wasn’t that good with reading through his messages. There was no climbing into the rafters this time. The white and blue mech gulped. 

“Stockade, Glam, hi!” Rosanna called out. Now that she safely had their attention, she approached the two with a beaming smile. “I’m so excited to finally meet you!” Her optics were bright as she approached with a spring in her step. “I hope you don’t mind if I borrow your time for a short bit here. We’re going around for some brief interviews with everyone! And I have to say, our viewers have been  _ dying _ to know more about the show’s most mysterious mech.” She charmingly winked at him.

Giving a small nervous breath of a laugh, Glam’s gold optics were cast down as he brought his hand up to his helm in a shy gesture that partially obscured his face. “Uh, yeah. We can take a break.” He nodded to the larger dancer, and Stockade waved at the camera excitedly before playfully finger-gunning at Rosanna and taking his leave. The wave reminded Glam of the camera drone, which he then proceeded to stare at. 

Rosanna briefly looked at the drone and then back at Glam. “Oh, don’t mind that, it’s just the camera! Not the most ideal, I know, but--just pretend it’s not there,” she said, giving a playfully dismissive gesture with her hand.

The white and blue mech sheepishly waved at the camera before turning his attention to Rosanna, earning a cute laugh from the pink femme. He had trouble getting himself to say anything. He opened his mouth barely before shutting it again. Glam took in her expression, the brightness of her optics--and he then realized he was staring at her. 

Rosanna tilted her helm in contemplation. Did she make him nervous? Or was he just not used to having a camera in his face? After his performance the other night, this seemingly shy mech wasn’t exactly who she anticipated meeting. The contrast was comical, in its own way, and not without its own brand of charm. It seemed the mech on stage could possibly be-- by in large--an act. “So! How are you feeling about being in the competition?” She punctuated the question with a cheerful clap of her hands, Glam straightening at the abrupt motion as he snapped to attention. “From feedback we’ve been getting, it really seems like you’re a big favorite among the viewers.” 

It took a second for Glam to actually take in what she said. “I’m grateful for the opportunity.” His voice was quiet, and he deliberately shifted his stance to appear more relaxed, not feeling entirely confident it worked. “I think we’ll have a pretty good little show this week. I know the dancers and the team have been working hard to make sure it all comes together. So I hope to keep being a favorite.” 

Rosanna smiled warmly at his response. He had a humble nature, it seemed, and understood he wasn’t the only one making this all come together. “I really love hearing that. And I can tell our crew is really enjoying working with you, too!” Her smile lit up again. “I do want to say that I also personally really,  _ really  _ loved your performance! You have an amazing voice, and it was a TON of fun getting to experience being in that audience.” 

Glam’s helm ducked bashfully at the praise and a smile crept onto his face. He desperately wanted to remind himself that he was just a part of her job. “I’m glad you liked it. It was fun to do.” It felt distinctly odd to be looking down at Rosanna. “The song had a lot of energy. So it’s easy to get people into it. I mean, you would know about that.” 

“I suppose I would, wouldn’t I?” She replied with a somewhat cheeky grin. “I love music that really gets everyone’s spark going and makes sure everyone is having a good time--so yeah, I might have a teensy bit of bias with what you have going on here.” Her smile was playfully mischievous. There was a warm familiarity in the way Glam smiled and ducked his head, and in the small, but specific motions he made with his helm when he spoke. It was both restrained and expressive at the same time. “Speaking of which, can I ask a little bit about what you have in store for us?” 

Her smile was infectious, as always. Glam couldn’t help returning one. “It’s going to involve black paint, dramatic lighting and a lot of practice. You know, all in a day’s work.” His tone rode on the fine edge where it was hard to tell if he meant it as a joke or if he was alluding to his actual day-job. “We’re still working out the kinks.” Glam’s smile became perhaps just a bit more toothy at that. “There is a section in the middle to keep an optic out for.” 

A bit of warmth rose to the femme’s face, Rosanna feeling a little more than blindsided by the comments. “Well, we’ll definitely be paying attention!” She reshuttered her optics at a momentary lapse in thought of what to say next, but was quick to resume. “So uh, you seem pretty familiar with stage work! Are you used to working a crowd?” 

“Only when I’ve had  _ way _ too much engex.” Glam was speaking the truth in that. There was some brand of confidence that anonymity provided that was close enough to the haze of engex to allow him to take the stage. He was also up against the proverbial wall. He had no other options but to be entertainment if he was going to be a medic. 

“So there  _ is  _ some truth to the party boy persona,” Rosanna responded in a tone suggesting she just made a novel discovery.

Shrugging slightly, the white and blue mech answered, “Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out.” 

“I suppose we will! Thanks for letting me ask some questions today.” She turned to the drone and lightly tapped a button that paused recording, the red light on the front turning yellow as she gently turned the lens away. Now that she had the interview finished, she wanted to say a few things in privacy. The mech’s helm and torso were tilted slightly as he watched her, his optics following what she was doing with the drone. “Also, Glam, I want to apologize for missing you after the show the other day, I really did want to say hi and introduce myself properly.” She took on a genuinely apologetic smile. “I really didn’t mean for this to be how we first get introduced to each other.” 

Glam straightened up quickly when her attention fell back on him. “I had to take a call. So don’t worry about it. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other around.” 

“Of course!” She replied brightly. “Like I said to the others, please don’t feel like you can’t reach out and talk to me. I’m a panelist, but I’m also here to help if you have any questions.” She held out a hand for him to shake, her expression warm. “It’s great to meet you.” 

He reached out and shook her hand, “Glam. Nice to meet you. Guess you gotta get on to the next person?” He tried overcoming the deja vu but it was intense. After all, it really wasn’t his first introduction to her. 

“I do,” she replied cheerfully. “But like you said, we’ll be around.” She put her hands on her hips, decidedly looking at the door she was targeting for her exit. “Jetsetter is up next. I don’t know if you’ve had much of a chance to talk with him, but he’s an absolute sweetspark.” She leaned up and raised her hand in a playful motion of blocking her face to hide what she was saying. “Also I know he’s here to compete, but I’m also pretty much  _ definitely _ sure he’s also here trying to find a date. Also pretty sure he’s likely going to find one.” She giggled lightheartedly before starting to make her leave. “Anyway, have a good day, Glam!” 

As she turned to leave, Glam felt some nervousness dissipate. His smile grew softer, and he vented air he didn’t know he’d been trapping in his systems. As he’d always been, he was charmed by her. He allowed himself to stand there dumbly one moment longer before returning to practice. 

* * *

_ Later that week, filming day... _

This was it. It was time for that week's worth of practice to hit the stage. The Hurricane was finally here. That was a joke that had been made more than once in the work room. Unless something catastrophic happened, there weren't going to be any retakes. Moving forward all the episodes and the voting were going to be live, and they had more people than just the studio audience to impress.

Glam’s optics looked over the dancers he’d been working with. They were all painted in a matte black with a satin finish. The dancers lost a certain amount of identity with the new paint and became warm, indistinct, moving bodies in the dim light. It was to make them look like they could be anyone. The song lent itself to dark rooms and missed affairs. He wanted the crowd to get a visual taste of that, and he worked closely with the choreographer and the set team to accomplish that goal. Glam’s paint, on the other hand, was still pristine. The contrasting sharpness of his white and blue finish was near glaring by comparison. He was going to stand out against the dark of everything else on stage, and that was the point. 

He deeply cycled air, going through the motions of mentally preparing himself for getting into the mindset of Glam. The singing wasn’t the hard part--his singing was going to be just fine. It was everything else he was worried about. The expressions, the dancing, the  _ acting. _ Most everything going onto that stage was  _ Glam _ , and not a whole hell of a lot of himself. He knew the song, he knew the lyrics, and the lines would give him his cues. 

He was partnered for the dance with Stockade, and the large mech was hovering close to him in measured anticipation. The dancer was just as much of a performer, and in Glam’s opinion, honestly more so. The time shared practicing with each other was highly work focused with only a small amount of play dappled in. There had been a lot of Glam constantly checking on how Stockade was feeling with the role, followed by Stockade doggedly reassuring him he was fine with it, and noting even his conjunx was eager to see the performance. He was good natured and easy to get along with, so they’d gotten to know each other a bit. 

Glam bounced on his feet in an attempt to get some of his jitters out and shook out his hands. His processor was still trying to wrap itself around the feeling--or lack thereof--in his recently crafted digits. He requested medic-grade hands when they were building this frame, but was stuck with these lackluster ones, having been reminded that for the competition he wasn’t a doctor and it wasn’t necessary. They were less sensitive, more clumsy, and not what he was used to. For all the hype hands were given, his paws were preferred.

Stockade’s hand clapped him on the shoulder, bringing his nervous bouncing to an end. “You ready?” 

Glam turned to look up at the large mech. His face had even been painted dark for the effect, making his yellow green optics stand out more. “Ready as I’m going to be.” 

The team received the communications ping from the stage manager saying everything was ready. Glam put his head down in a determined way, and led the group out onto the stage. He took his mark, Stockade his, and pairs of dancers scattered around them. The ambient stage lights were low, and the lighting had been switched to cast a red hue from different bars in the catwalks above.

Glam didn’t know how humans managed to do this with  _ lungs _ . The idea of having to rely on  _ lungs  _ for both singing and dancing at the same time was ridiculous, and he was very grateful Cybertronians didn’t have to deal with that limitation. It certainly would have made a lot more boring of a performance, that was for sure. 

Everyone pinged once they were in their positions. Glam made it a point that he would always be last to send the message that he was ready. He wanted to ensure everyone else was comfortable, that no one would potentially get in trouble for not getting to their marks fast enough--and probably, more importantly for himself--it gave Glam control in knowing exactly when everything would begin.

Once he pinged the stage manager, the music started. A small synthetic melody played. The paired dancers started clapping to mimic the recording. The camera drones moved, catching different angles of the stage. The devices were barely visible in the lighting. 

Stockade and himself were the only two so far to leave their marks. They moved toward each other on the stage as Glam started singing, his arm outstretched toward his partner, and his optics locked. 

_ Are you worth your weight in gold? _

_ 'Cause you're behind my optics when I'm all alone _

_ Hey stranger, I want ya to catch me like a cold. _

His arm was snatched as it got close to Stockade. It appeared rougher than it was. It was an act; his partner demonstrated the song. 

_ You and God both got the guns  _

_ When you shoot, I think I'd duck  _

After just a few steps he was dipped back. Relying on the large mech to lower his weight, his helm lowered back further, cheekily stretching out the visual line of his frame as though he was moving from this potential, imaginary bullet. He was pulled back up in a strong, quick motion. Their pedes laced together in powerful, but careful steps as they walked a short distance on the stage. 

_ I led the revolution in my bedroom _

_ And I set all the zippers free _

_ We said, "No more war, no more clothes, give me peace,” _

Stockade's hand traveled the high shine white of Glam’s plating as the helicopter’s leg wrapped around the larger mech. This was a moment they had to get the expressions right. Glam’s optical shutters lowered slightly, his words deliberately breathy as he brought his face very close to Stockade’s. His hand left the large shoulder to trail down the side of the mech’s helm.

_ “Oh, kiss me” _

The dance that had been designed was heavily influenced by Earth’s tango and each pair of background dancers was doing a simplified version of it as well. The sharp movements, the fast strikes of the feet, the closeness of their frames, the strides moving them to different points on the stage, the whirlwind-like rotating movements at times, and the moments when it was obvious Glam’s frame was on display. He knew what he had, and all he had to do was sell it to the crowd.

The microphone and stand at stage center front was mostly a prop, the real one being mounted to his helm. He was deposited behind the prop stand on cue, his hands delicately resting on the microphone. The lights changed to white on the front part of the stage, making the helicopter pristine again instead of tinged in red. 

_ Oh I confess, I confess in a room where I'm blessed, _

The blackness of his partners hands became apparent as they roamed over his body in a mock display of interfacing. Fingers running along seams but not daring to dip into them, lingering on his inner thigh, the side of his throat, and other tender places. It split the attention between his voice, and the lines of his build. He didn’t appear bothered by the touches; it was almost like he didn’t even know he was being fondled at all. 

__

_ I led the revolution in my bedroom _

And that racy bit was done. His hand was taken and he was pulled back into a stride. It felt like the performance was easy from here. The rest of the ground work had been laid; there were only a couple more unique moments left. 

_ Fix me or conflict me _

Stockade went behind the smaller singer and physically picked him up, displaying the helicopter’s frame. Glam slowly slid downward against his partner’s front, his hands feeling the larger mech’s body behind him until he was on his knees on the stage. 

_ I'll take anything _

Glam sank down further onto the stage, his hands running on his own frame as he turned to face the black painted mech. The singer leaned back to the point he was almost laying against the stage as his partner leaned over him possessively. Glam wrapped his legs around Stockade’s middle as the larger mech’s hands travelled again over his legs and torso. His back arched provocatively, and he mentally cursed as he was reminded of his rotors for the twentieth time this routine. Stockade’s hands gripped firmly and he was picked up from the floor to be held temporarily against the other’s front.

_ Fix me or just conflict me 'cause I'll take anything _

Once placed back on his pedes, they went into their last round of dance. The movements were fast, and Glam, if pressed later would have to admit it was a bit of blur. 

_ 'Cause they know, I know, that they don't look like me _

_ Oh, they know, I know, that they don't sound like me _

These lyrics were part of what attracted him to the song. The words were imbued with cocky pride. In his original frame he barely looked like anyone else, and when it came to his singing, very few people ever matched him. This late in the song he was able to pour more of himself into singing, to really let the words tear out of him. 

_ You'll dance to anything! _

_ You'll dance to anything! _

The other dancers ground to a halt, raised their hands up and clapped twice. The stage was dramatically plunged into darkness. The noise of the crowd started to exist again. The throng of people in the audience was easy enough for Glam to ignore while he was performing-- much easier than doing field repair work, and that was a comparison he could swear by. Glam turned to exit the stage. He was done; he didn’t want to be up there any longer than he had to be. He didn’t like the scrutiny or the attention.

Stockade reached out and hooked an arm around Glam’s midsection, effectively catching him. “Hey, you can’t leave before we bow out.” The larger mech kept his voice low to prevent it being picked up by any potentially lingering mics. 

The crowd was still going but the singer’s window to leave was quickly evaporating. He barely managed to turn around before the stage lights came back on. The dancers bowed in their pairs and Glam and Stockade followed suit. The helicopter tried to avoid showing how distinctly uncomfortable the attention made him. The arm around his middle had become a companionable hold low in his back. Stockade’s hand moved to pat Glam on the back before exiting, leaving Glam alone on the stage with the approaching host.

”Whew! Is it warm in here, or is it just me? It’s not just me, right?” Rocksteady dramatically acted as if he were adjusting the plating around his neck to let out warm air. The crowd responded with another round of whoops, hollers, and a few whistles. “Okay yeah, that’s what I thought. And how are our panelists faring after that whirlwind? You doing alright up there?” 

Rosanna was smiling, playfully fanning herself with one of her hands. “Oh yeah! Doing just fine, Rocky!” Her voice was comically pitched, Jazz chuckling and waving while Crosscut looked smugly unaffected.

“That was one heck of a storm that just blew through here. Now, I gotta thank you for clearing up your schedule to stick around this time, because I know we’ve all been dying to meet you!“ The crowd again responded in turn, the host egging them on by raising his arms. “And for all those wondering, that was ‘Hurricane’ by, once again, Panic at the Disco. Seems to be a favorite! So tell us, do you have anything you want to say about what you’ve brought to the stage today?” 

Glam moved to stand a bit closer to Rocksteady. “Well, a lot of work went into it. We need a big round of applause for the crew and the dancers for making all this possible. I might be the face and the voice but they, and definitely Stockade, did the heavy lifting.” He wasn’t one to talk about himself much. He would much rather use this time to lift others up with him. 

“Well, to me it looked like he was just picking up what you put down. Speaking about picking up, how about our panelists? What words of wisdom do you have for us about the performance?” The host gestured up at the panelist box. 

Crosscut leaned forward a bit more in his seat. “Well he’s right about that, there was a lot of work and thought put into the performance, and that’s what it was--a performance. You used this song as a play, and you set the stage to tell a feeling. The dance was a good choice for how heated and emotional it can lend itself to being. I’m surprised at how artful you were this evening, if a bit risqué. Well done.”

Jazz leaned forward, his arms crossed against the top of the table. “You played it smart again, my mech, you gave us something different. You gave us something to  _ look _ at. Now I’m going to be the downer here, and believe me, that’s not what I like being, but I feel the need to remind folks this is a  _ singing  _ competition. Don’t let contestants distract with dance or showmanship in place of vocal talent. Now I’m not saying your voice wasn’t good, you were great tonight, mech. Loved it. I just don’t want people to lose sight of the main thing we’re looking for here.”

Rocksteady turned to look at the last panelist to speak. “And what about our little lady? You recover yet?” 

Rosanna laughed, “I’m fine! I’m fine, just--wow!” She laughed again. “Like everyone’s been saying, you really put on a show for us tonight, Glam. It was VERY much a whole theater production, and you made use of the talent and resources our team has available to you. And I know Stockade, your dance partner, had a lot of fun working with you. Aaannd I’m pretty sure his conjunx is here today too--” She stood up from her chair to scan the audience, raising her hand above her optics. “Yes--there he is! Hi, Over-run!” 

A voice called out from the audience, a hand raising up to identify themselves amidst the crowd. “I love you, honey!” The crowd broke out into laughter before Rosanna resumed.

“As much as I LOVED this tonight, a performance that centers on just how  _ good  _ your voice is might be best in the future. And you said it before when we did our interviews, but I want to thank you for acknowledging and working so well with everyone helping make this a reality. You’re our resident party boy, but you put a lot of heart and work into what you do. Great work tonight, Glam.” She winked and gestured cutely down at the mech as the crowd gave another round of applause.

Throughout her comments Glam gave small nods acknowledging what she said. He quirked a smile at her compliment and tilted his helm slightly with a small shuffle of his pedes. There was a moment of thought before he spoke and his expression grew a little sly. “I can take a hint. More voice and less show. I’ll see what I can do, but I still want to give the audience what they want.” There was another pause and he gestured at the crowd playfully, “And I think they want it all.” The crowd was roused once more and the singer had to swallow a taste of bitterness that crept onto his tongue. They wanted him now while he fit the ideal image of a sleek, handsome bipedal mech, but as soon as it was revealed he was a small cat-sette, they’d be done with him. 

“Well I’m pretty sure they’re here for what you’ve been bringing. Thanks for sticking around with us, Glam. Now everyone give it up one more time, let’s hear it!” Rocksteady turned to clap for him again, giving Glam his cue to exit.

The singer waved to the crowd and paid no further attention to them as he turned to leave. He hadn’t wanted to be out there to start with, so being allowed to leave was a blessing. Once he was out of view, he shivered, shaking out his nerves. It was only the second performance and he hoped that he’d get more comfortable as he got used to the attention. 

While his current frame didn’t crave engex like his original did, it didn’t remove the want of softened edges and lessened anxiety that engex gave his processor. What was possibly worse was that engex was freely available in the contestants’ lounge, and when he stepped foot into the room several other contestants were there already with drinks in hand. He was trying to avoid sliding back into addiction. Most of the time he was distracted--by people, by practice, by memorizing dances, or by just existing. He didn’t feel the _ need _ to drink, but the sudden lack of everything besides frazzled nerves after the performance made him want it. 

“Hey, you alright there? You’ve been out of it since you got back here.” Rager had approached Glam, him having taken residence on one of the couches after he exited backstage and was staring into the middle distance, absentmindedly wringing and fussing at his hands for some time. The large femme was holding out a glass of energon in front of his face in an attempt to snap him out of his daze.

Glam cycled his optics at the softly glowing liquid. He reached to take it out of habit. “Is this regular or engex?” He held it in his hands as he waited for the answer, had he been in his original frame he might have been able to pick up on the smell and know without asking. It really wasn’t the time for him to slip up and ruin what he was working so hard for. 

“Just regular energon,” Rager responded, a look of concern about her optics. “Figured you could use the fuel.”

He took a drink, trusting Rager. It certainly didn’t burn like engex. Glam’s shoulders lowered and he adjusted his grip on the glass. “Thanks. Probably burned through a bit with the performance.” He could see the tightness around her optics. “You done with yours?”

“My round? Yeah, I’m done, just finished up” she replied with a grin, her optics softening slightly. “Not sure why, but the crowd out there seemed to like it. And I had enough fun with it.” Rager motioned for Glam to scooch aside to make more room for her to take a seat next to him. She spread her arms across the back of the sofa, lounging back comfortably. “There are only a few more performances to go, then voting, and then we can get on out of here to rest up. These filming nights are  _ a lot. _ ”

The helicopter mech nodded. “I’m not really cut out for this. I’m going to try to get as far as I can, but,” Glam turned his helm to look at the femme next to him. “The filming nights are a lot. It’s rough.” He repeated Rager’s phrasing to drive the point of commiseration. He looked over at Windy, who was apparently also back from her performance. She was exuding energy and moving about the room, emboldened by her time on the stage. She lived for this. “Primus, to have her energy.” 

Rager chuckled, “I don’t think many people are on  _ that _ level. I get tired just by watching her.” The tone in her voice didn’t hold any malice to it. “But she’ll be face down, snoring, and oblivious to the world when it comes time to recharge, just like the rest of us.” The corner of her mouth pulled upwards in a smirk, looking back down at Glam. “So, you prefer regular grade?” She shallowly gestured a finger at his glass, knowing she was likely treading carefully. Many people had come out of the war with their own demons, and she would rather not make things worse.

Glam raised the glass to look at it. “No, but I’m trying to be good. Don’t need to get this frame wrecked.” He lowered his arm so it rested near his knee joint and the glass between his legs. The rest of the contestants were minding their business. Some were intently watching the screen to keep up with the proceedings, and some buzzed on engex and having idle chatter, already content to wind down and calm nerves before voting commenced. 

Glam wasn’t really ashamed of his addiction, or at least he reassured himself that he wasn’t. Pit, he even got up on stage and sang about drinking. “I’ve been a pretty hard drinker since at least halfway through the war. I’m using this to try to kick it, but the stress isn’t making it easy.”

Nodding, the large femme remained quiet a moment as she thought. “We’re all stressed. Just don’t think you’re alone. Going through anything alone is worse than having other people be miserable with you.” Rager’s arm on the back of the couch moved to give him a hug around the shoulders. She was making her best attempt at being supportive. “I won’t keep bugging you. Thanks for letting me know though. I’ll try to help when I can.” 

There was a small moment of understanding between them, “So, who do you think’s out tonight?” Rager spoke up again to try to change the subject.

“Cargot, Tripper, maybe Ironsides?” The helicopter put forward names based on performances and the audience response. 

“My audios can only hope.” She replied quickly with a telling smile. The comment was made in earshot of all three of those contestants and hearing their names drew attention. With that attention came much welcomed distraction as the three contestants joined in to defend themselves and their performances. 


	5. Chapter 5

Rosanna was tinkering with a white and pink camera drone, making sure it was set up and functioning properly for when she got to the studio. The device was cradled in her lap as she fussed at the screen, shadows from passing buildings making shapes across the polished surface and heart decals. She was presently seated in the passenger seat of Roughstuff, a mech she hired years ago to act as her personal driver.

“I thought you said you had the day off?” The mech verbally prodded at her over their internal comms as he drove.

“I do,” the small femme replied matter-of-factly, continuing to adjust the drone’s settings as she spoke.

“Alright, then why are you going to the studio? Shouldn’t you be taking the time to oh, I dunno, rest? Read a novel? Watch a movie? Go somewhere? You know, something that doesn’t involve going to work?”

Rosanna giggled quietly. This wasn’t the first time they’d had a conversation like this. “I was wanting to go around and hang out with the contestants since I had the chance. Get some footage for my vlog and stuff. You know, have some fun!” 

“Hmm, yeah. Fun. Sounds like work to me.”

Rosanna lightly shrugged and tilted her helm into her shoulder while gesturing. “Okay maybe a little, I guess. But I don’t have a script of questions from the producers I’m supposed to work from, so it’s different. I get to do what I want and be less… you know. Stiff about it.” 

“If that’s what you wanna do, then that’s what matters, Rose.” 

Rosanna quietly vented air. Even though she was _ technically _ his boss, that wasn’t exactly the kind of relationship the two shared. Roughstuff was an ex-Decepticon, and more recently an ex-convict who, before meeting Rosanna, was finding it difficult to get work. Over the years the two fostered a friendship that was heavily tinged with a mutual gratitude. Rosanna wasn’t an intensely demanding person and paid Roughstuff very generously to help her get around. She gave him steady and easy work while also taking care and interest in his well-being. The funds kept him out of trouble, and her presence was a reminder that someone gave half a slag. He also swore up and down he’d bash in some heads if ever needed, but thankfully the need hadn’t come up yet.

Roughstuff, for Rosanna, would often keep checks on her to make sure she was taking proper care of herself. On more than one occasion he stepped between her and decisions that would lead to her overextending herself, reminding her that obligations to her work or other people don’t extend past her own needs, such as fuel and proper rest. He was also a horrible enabler when it came to petty indulgences though, which he often argued were self care.   
  
Rosanna had a distinct feeling this was one of those moments he was trying to look out for her. “Okay, how about this. When I’m finished, we’ll both go get bubble tea? And then I’ll relax the rest of the day, promise.” 

“Alright, it’s a deal. I’m holdin’ you to it.” There was an obvious smile in the mech’s tone. 

The two arrived at the studio lot, Roughstuff waiting for Rosanna to exit before he transformed into his root mode. The large mech looked down at his charge, a mischievous smirk on his face. “I’ll be sticking around while you’re here. You know me--the hunt continues.” The pink femme giggled knowingly and looked up at the navy and grey-green mech with a smile. “Well, go have fun! I’ll let you know when I’m finished doing my thing. Happy hunting!” Rosanna cutely waved in parting, knowing the mech was on the prowl for some evening companionship. She headed to the lot where the contestants would be practicing. 

Rosanna switched her camera drone to start recording, letting out a series of chirps as it took to the air behind her. She already made her announcement with the higher-ups that she was going to be there that day, so she was free to go and make her rounds on the lot. She turned to address the camera after she set up her shot. “Hi everyone, Rosie here! Today I’m at the studio to have some fun with the remaining contestants on  _ Cybertron’s Brightest _ !-- And of course try to get some more sneak peeks of what they’re up to while I’m at it. Let’s see what kind of trouble I can stir up, yeah?”

Most everyone was busy and hard at work, but were willing and present to indulge Rosanna in some time to play around. Windy was especially eager to take a break to have fun with Rosanna and the camera drone, the two femmes taking plenty of selfies and videos together. The two took it upon themselves to playfully harass Jetsetter, who was adorably easy to fluster and eager for attention from the two femmes. Over shortwave comms her and Windy organized a photo where Jetsetter was instructed to look at the camera, and was then kissed on either side of his face, to his delighted surprise. 

Rosanna didn’t, however, feel especially hard pressed to spend much time with Tripper, given his casted role in the competition. Out of curiosity she stopped in front of the door where he was supposed to be practicing, creaking it open to find him sprawled in a large cushioned chair playing some sort of game on a large screen. The mech turned his helm to look over his shoulder as he was alerted by the door opening, before cracking a smile. 

“Oh, hey, Hot Pink. What’s kickin?” 

“Hm.” Rosanna promptly closed the door and moved along.

Before she left for the day, Rosanna was especially hoping to be able to catch Glam again. The mech had once again left the backstage lounge to go make a call after the last show, so she wasn’t able to touch base with him. There was a certain anxiousness about the mech that Rosanna was slightly concerned about, and she was hoping to find anything she could do to help alleviate what might be causing him stress. One of the things she took great pride in about herself was her ability to brighten someone’s mood, one way or another. If she couldn’t help soften his nerves, she could perhaps at least bring some fun into his day. That was her hope, anyway. 

The choreographer was in the room sitting alone in a chair, sipping a cup of some fragrant variety of energon and reading a datapad. “Oh, Redline, hi! You’re working with Glam this week?” 

“Well, I was. Until he stepped out to make a call 13 minutes ago.” He continued to scroll on the datapad. Redline, while nice enough, had a bit of a hard streak to him. He didn’t care too much for interruptions. There weren’t even any other dancers milling about so it left the choreographer with little to do while Glam was gone. 

Rosanna’s face fell a little, and she raised a hand to switch off her drone’s recording function. “Oh, I see.” The femme gave a contemplative look around the room. This was the third time Glam left when her arrival was somewhat going to be anticipated, and she couldn’t help the growing, suspicious feeling in her tank as to why that might be. The one time she did get to speak with him it appeared he had been caught off guard--and the mech had a reputation for not checking his message inbox on the regular. “Redline, I do have to ask, out of curiosity here… does he usually leave to make calls? Like, is that something he normally does?” She rubbed the back of her helm in a rare display of her own nervousness. 

The red racing build set his datapad in his lap and shifted his crossed legs. “No, not usually. I only agreed to work with him because Falcia said he was no-nonsense. He’s usually here early and doesn’t leave until Rager shows up looking for him.”    
  


Things were definitely starting to make sense. Rosanna had just finished up spending time with Rager before she came this way to find Glam, and it wasn’t difficult to connect the dots. She was being avoided. “Ah, I see! It must have been something pretty important that came up, then,” she replied in good humor. “I won’t bother him, then. Hopefully he’ll come back soon so you won’t be kept waiting for too long. Anyway, it’s always good seeing you, Redline!” 

“Hm, you as well, Rosanna.” 

The pink femme turned to leave, looking over her shoulder and waving before taking her exit, only then allowing a troubled expression to cross her features. Rosanna was confused and concerned. Had she done something to offend Glam? Why would he want to avoid her? Did he just not like her? Did she intimidate him somehow? A dozen questions and concerns went through her mind as she made her way back to the entrance. 

Glam was last on her list to visit, meaning it was time for her to leave and fulfill her promise to Roughstuff. She messaged her chauffeur, letting him know she was wrapping things up and was ready to go whenever he was finished with his own business. Going to their favorite shop and drinking bubble tea with the large mech always put her in a good mood, but Rosanna had it in mind that she needed to vent and discuss this new development about Glam. She sent a message to Twirl, one of her long time friends, hoping the femme might be free to help her navigate this situation. Drinking tea with Roughstuff, sharing pictures, and seeing if he found a new date among the dancers or stagehands while they were at the studio would be a welcome distraction in the meantime. 

* * *

Glam and Rager had ordered fuel and a basket of loaded energon chips from a restaurant near the studio. They sat in an outside common area belonging to the onsite housing that was infrequently used. Crystals were planted and looked to finally be taking hold in pots dotted around tables with benches. The pair’s discussions were varied from dancers and choreographers, to what they were thinking about for lunch the next day, but there was a lingering topic hanging between them. 

Rager picked up a dripping chip and leveled her optics at Glam. “Alright loverboy, you’re testing me. I’ve gotten you out of talking to her three times.” She put the dripping food in her mouth giving the mech a deliberate chance to respond.

The helicopter set his hand to rest on the edge of the food package to keep his messy digits off the table. “I don’t like that nickname, and I thank you for what you’ve done. I... just need time.” He plucked another chip from the pile, but then set it down again. There was a short venting of air out of his system before he continued, “It’s been so long and I just-- it just feels like she’s going to see straight through this.” He looked down at the table top, not really focusing on anything. “It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid.” 

His conversation partner’s mouth turned down in a barely perceivable frown. She tilted her head, trying to get a grasp on what had the mech so strung. “You’re nervous about what her reaction will be if she recognizes you.” 

“She might not remember me at all. She might have moved on with her life.” There was a heavy pause obviously filled with ‘but what if she hadn’t’. Glam hadn’t let himself indulge in that train of thought. He was trying to get himself in a better position in life, not set himself up for a new variety of let down. “I need to concentrate on getting that prize money.” Glam made an attempt to refocus and shoved a particularly well-topped chip into his mouth.

Countering, Rager shoved a much larger blob of stuck together chips into her own face. “Guess one thing at a time, huh? I’m rooting for you, loverboy.” She spoke through the chips in a less than polite way. “You’re not going to be able to avoid her forever. You know that, right?” 

“I don’t need forever.” The response came as a natural quip. This was something he had learned after millennia doing life-saving repairs. “I just need long enough to figure something out.” 

* * *

“Yep, he’s definitely avoiding you!” Twirl nonchalantly confirmed Rosanna’s worst fears for the day. The flyer femme was causually buffing the joints of her hands as she reclined on the popstar’s sofa seat. The two had agreed to meet up that evening, feeling a hang-out session would be a more appropriate way to handle this particular topic of conversation. 

“But  _ why? _ ” Rosanna exclaimed, her hands gesturing in exasperation as she sat reclining against the other arm of her sofa. “Why would he be avoiding me? I don’t think I’ve done anything to offend him, have I? I’m pretty sure I only shared  _ one _ conversation with him, and even then he seemed really anxious to be around me. I just chalked it up to nerves, but...” 

“Are you sure you don’t know who he is? Because it sounds like he knows who  _ you _ are.” 

“I mean. There does feel like there’s something familiar about him, but nothing I can really place,” Rosanna replied, mild distress in her voice. “Not like I’ve really been around him enough to know for sure, but…” The femme placed her hands over her visor, shielding out the light of the room. “What if he  _ does _ know me? And I did something that may have hurt him somehow?” The distress and frustration was clear in her voice.

“Mmm, is he an ex? Not that any of your exes are really that talented, BUT…” 

“None of my exes are that talented,” Rosanna replied flatly, hands still on her visor. “He better not be an ex.” 

“What if he never had a chance to be an ex? What if he never had the chance to ask, and you crushed his spark under your cold heel?” 

“ _ Twirl! _ ” Rosanna exclaimed. “You’re  _ supposed  _ to be helping!”

“I am! I’m making you think about the possibilities.” The two paused briefly. “He also could just hate you, you know. People can just hate people. I hate people all the time.” The dancer held out her hand to inspect her work so far.

“I mean… yeah, I guess,” Rosanna replied sadly. She really hoped that wasn’t the case. It would be really unfortunate if Glam hated her. “I mean. If he does know me, then that means he’s my ‘panelist connection’,” Rosanna emphasized the phrase with air quotes, a note of sadness in her voice. “If it’s something I did, or some kind of misunderstanding, I’d really like to talk to him and try to clear things up if it could help him be more comfortable, you know? Like, he shouldn’t have to clear the room because of  _ me. _ That’s not fair to him.” 

“Wow, sounds like you’re getting ready to be really awkward.” 

“YEAH, I know, I just…” The pink femme let out a long sigh, Rosanna taking on a genuinely upset expression.

“Okay, look. If he was around you, and he’s a singer, you would know who he is,” Twirl interjected, deciding to finally be mildly helpful. “If you don’t know who he is, then it might just be him being stupid.” 

Rosanna sat in her thoughts, quietly considering Twirl’s words. Her friend was right in that she should recognize Glam if she had ever been around the singer before--and there were certain qualities about the mech that tickled a sense of familiarity and nostalgia she couldn’t quite place. It made her frown, and feel deeply uncomfortable that a name or face didn’t immediately come to mind. “I don’t think it’s him being stupid,” Rosanna stated decidedly. “I think I’m just going to have to figure it out. Or not, if he doesn’t want me to hang around him. I’ll probably leave it up to Jazz to interact with him directly from here on out. I’m not going to intentionally make someone uncomfortable just to satisfy my own curiosity.” It was a statement easier spoken than accepted.


	6. A Long, Long Time Ago Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's another flashback chapter! It's a shorter one this week, but no less important for these two and their blossoming friendship--and Rosanna beginning to understand how life is for Glit.

Rosanna and Glit started hanging out pretty regularly after they met up that evening in the rec hall. The feline mech had a genuine charm and good nature that made it easy for her to relax in his company, and that became very quickly apparent. Perhaps it was because he was so upfront about himself and his own feelings, his blunt matter-of-factness and willingness to speak plainly about his position. Despite his self deprecating humor, Rosanna recognized the quiet, intense ferocity towards himself and his beliefs, and that was likely what drew her to him the most. That, and the fact he was a mess of walking contradictions with an amazing voice. 

She also found, much to her surprise and intense gratitude, that he didn’t press expectations on her. He didn’t expect her to always be happy, to be entertained by her, to flirt, to sing, or any of the lists of things people have come to want in their interactions from her. For once, Rosanna found her shoulders relaxed, her chassis lighter, and a deep relief she didn’t realize she needed. She could just be herself, in whatever that meant in the moment. 

She would visit him in the med-bay after her shift and invite him to hang out with her and some other crew members on the occasion, since he couldn’t exactly visit her in communications. There were a select few areas Glit had clearance to visit, being a Decepticon and all, and the med-bay and recreation hall were pretty much the extent of places he could freely go.

Another factor to her eagerness to see him so often, she knew, was that Glit wasn’t going to be there forever. She only had so much time to enjoy his company and friendship so readily. One day he would be leaving on a transport to be taken to the frontlines and return to the Decepticon side of the war. However, until the plasma storm raging in their sector passed and they could start sending out ships again, Glit was stuck there, and she meant to take full advantage of the time they had.

Rosanna was, to her absolute delight, successful in finally getting him to sing. It wasn’t up on stage in the rec hall, of course-- he was still anxious about getting up and performing in front of everyone, but he was willing to share and sing with her in a more private setting. There was something intimately special about sharing those moments with him, in making their own private mini-concerts in a non-busy corridor or in the down hours of the medbay, and it warmed her spark to have found such an unexpected talent to share in her love of song. 

Though Rosanna felt exceedingly special to experience his singing, she wished he was more confident in his skills. She hoped she could convince him to share that vibrancy and passion with others, and to let people appreciate and be inspired by him. In Rosanna’s own scheming fashion, she organized a music themed event for the rec hall that would center on everyone taking rounds with karaoke, rather than it being an optional background feature of the evening. She felt Glit would be a bit more comfortable in just being another person taking a turn on the stage rather than feel like he was being singled out to perform.

With her plan in motion and her infectiously happy hostessing skills to liven the atmosphere, she got her wish--and with less engex than she anticipated. With the room full of energy, people laughing, smiling, cheering and jeering for their friends, Glit got up on stage with her--and he seemed genuinely happy to do it. The feline medic’s talent wasn’t entirely a secret to everyone--more than a few had overheard them singing together in various hallways and perches around base, and were more than enthusiastic to see the two songbirds finally perform together in front of everyone.   
  


Rosanna was overjoyed to sing and dance with him, and to see others experience and accept him. She could tell there was a weight lifted from Glit as well--he didn’t skirt around base with as much nervousness as he had before. Though there were some mechs that would never like Glit, there were others that--after seeing him perform with Rosanna and see how much she herself accepted this Decepticon medic--grew to acknowledge, welcome, and even seek out the mech’s company, or tolerate him, at the very least.

There was one evening, however, that shattered the vision of peace and acceptance she believed was being established towards Glit. The two were walking down one of the hallways after one of the quieter evenings in the rec hall, idly chatting and aglow with the mellowness of a day drawing to a close, when Sidetrack approached them in passing. He was a large mech, renowned for his brutality in fights and his overall gruffness towards people. Rosanna got along well with him for the most part, though. He was always charmed by her upbeat temperament, and generally softened around the edges when in her company. 

He met their optics deliberately, and Rosanna and Glit slowed to engage in conversation with the mech. There was a smirk on his face and a whiff of engex in the air about him. Before either of them could say a word in greeting, Sidetrack spoke, leering down with a dark smile. “You better enjoy your time on base, cat, ‘cause it’s open season when I catch you out in the field.” He roughly clapped a hand between Glit’s shoulder blades before he nonchalantly walked off, as if he just hadn’t threatened someone’s life.

The warmth drained from Rosanna’s face, and she felt her spark freeze and her intakes still. Her optics were locked ahead when she reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. “What the frag was that for?” She breathed. 

Glit gently nudged her and moved forward, eager to get them moving again. “C’mon Rosie-Doll.” His tone was even and level, the way he carried himself speaking as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. Rosanna moved to keep in stride, continuing to rest her hand on his shoulder as they walked. 

Both of them were silent for a time, the sounds of their footsteps against the metal floor a rhythmic metronome. The words of the threat rang in her mind, a clear and harsh reminder of the state of their reality--that he was a Decepticon among Autobots, and for a lot of people, that was all that would ever matter. Rosanna vented air, her chassis tight. She pulled at her friend’s shoulder to get him to slow. “Glit, I really don’t feel comfortable with you staying in the medbay tonight after that,” she spoke with urgency. “You could stay in my quarters, I’ll let Clipper know, and she’ll understand.” She moved forward a bit to be more in his field of vision, her visor bright with worry. “Please?”

Glit’s helm tilted and his expression was soft. He understood her concern. It wasn’t that he didn’t hear the threat. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel threatened. There was a renewed tension in his shoulders. “I’m used to it. It’ll be fine. Believe it or not, medics tend not to let people murder others while they recharge.” He tried to pass it off as a joke, but it fell flat.

Rosanna’s mouth turned down more in her distress. She knew what he was trying to say. “I still don’t feel good about it. I just--” She wasn’t typically one to be short on words, or knowledge of what she thought was the right thing to say. Right now, however, she found it difficult to push through anything but what she was feeling. “Please.” 

Her sincerity was cutting. It was hard for Glit to muster another round of reassurance. He opened his mouth in an attempt and closed it again. “Rosie,” his voice had a tad bit of breath to it. It was hard to deny her anything. “Only if Clipper says it’s alright.” 

Rosanna was relieved at his consenting to stay with her that evening. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the other medics, or think that anyone was actually going to come for Glit to do him harm. In truth, she just wanted the comfort of not being apart and knowing for certain he was safe--both for his sake, and her own. Clipper didn’t mind, wanting to make sure her roommate and Glit both were at ease, given Rosanna’s explanation on what happened. The femme was just barely awake when the pair came in, giving them both a drowsy and concerned greeting before fading off to go back to recharge. 

Rosanna stepped up onto her own berth and partially laid down, looking to Glit and silently motining with one of her arms for him to join her. She looked concerned and undeniably exhausted. Glit took a long moment to process the state of things before moving. He smoothly stepped his front half up onto the berth and then, stretching, had to try a couple times to successfully hook a hind paw onto the edge to pull the rest of himself up. Communal recharging wasn’t an unheard of thing during the war, especially for those who ended up out in the field. He’d learned along the way that it was only as awkward as you chose to make it. 

After finding a good spot, he laid down next to her. “It’s been a good night.” He tried to bring back the rest of what happened that evening to push away any feelings lingering from their encounter with Sidetrack. He gently set a large paw on top of Rosanna’s hand. 

She paused briefly, a tenseness easing out of her frame as she smiled. “Yeah, it really was,” she replied, gently moving her hand to entwine her fingers with his paw. “It was a lot of fun.” She bowed her head and settled down, sinking onto the berth and moving to press closer, shuttering her optics. At that she felt the feline build relax further, him gently nudging her helm under his. “Thank you for staying.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder, check out my twitter for art and other fun stuff! Glam's design is up, and Windy is being posted today as well!
> 
> There's some drama unfurling on stage next chapter!~ Thanks for sticking with us, everyone. If you have questions, need clarification on something, or see something in the fic you might want to see illustrated, please don't hesitate to leave a comment or message us on Twitter! <3


	7. Chapter 7

Conquer was called back to the stage after the votes were in, announcing him as the one to be going home this round. The orange and purple motorcycle build’s posture was tight and rigid as he walked to the front of the stage, his shoulders squared in defiance and anger taught on his face. The interview clip played behind him, revealing his identity, his passion, and his dream of what he wanted from the competition. His real name was Vanquish; a smaller stealth flyer MTO, former-Combiner, and former-Decepticon. His recorded voice spoke of how he had found music as a method of venting his grievances, and that outside of the war it had allowed him to find a community to which he felt he belonged. He was a part of a group of mechs he typically played together with, and had been hoping to bring them all up into the music industry through winning the competition. It wasn’t only his dream he had been fighting for these past few weeks. He wasn’t the person who should have been sent home, and his searing optics and clenched jaw made the point very clear: he felt cheated.

Rocksteady picked up on the hostility radiating off of the rocker, and the host braced himself as Vanquish began to approach. “It’s really sad to see you leave us after tonight,” Rocksteady commented, trying to keep a semblance of the expected series of comments and events with a degree more sincerity to his tone. “We’ve really enjoyed having you share--” 

“Yeah, too bad.” The motorcycle’s smaller build didn’t seem to take up any less room on the stage than Rocksteady. His optics locked on the panelists. The mech pointed at himself. “I shouldn’t be going home and everyone here knows that. I wasn’t the worst today.” The host knew he had made a valiant attempt to mitigate the situation and awkwardly shrugged as Vanquish started in on the three panelists. The singer sharply gestured in their direction. “But yeah, let a former senator, a former member of Autobot command, and the femme that used to run Autobot ‘Morale’--still trying to not read  _ that _ as ‘Propaganda’--tell you what to think about a Former ‘Con!” Anger spurred his vents into action. The tension bled into the audience and silence grabbed onto the buoyancy they possessed and dragged it down. 

Crosscut opened his mouth to speak, seemingly offended at the suggestion he couldn’t be neutral when it came to judging artistic merit. Seeing the former senator about to very likely say something inflammatory and stupid, Rosanna threw her arm out to thud her splayed hand against the mech’s chassis in an abrupt signal for him to  _ stop.  _ His look of offense redirected to the femme, but Rosanna was the first to speak. She had to de-escalate this. 

“No, he has a point. Vanquish, you’re justified in your anger. And you’re right in that we, the panelists chosen for this competition, do not reflect the diversity that is supposed to be here, that we find in you and others who come up on this stage and pour their sparks and everything they have into fighting for their dreams.” She moved her arm from Crosscut’s chassis to gesture at the entirety of those occupying the box. “And though it still doesn’t factor into the lack of representation, I do need to state that none of us up here know the backgrounds or identities of the contestants, and we only mean to speak for what you choose to present to us here on this stage. But, we are three former Autobots, and you and everyone backstage deserve to feel you have a voice up here advocating for you that reflects your identity and experiences. And right now, you don’t have that. And for that I am truly sorry.”

Rosanna’s presence and voice of authority had always been larger than her stature. No one in the box moved to contradict or interrupt her. “Despite this, I do need to restate that, at the end of the day, the decision of who stays and who goes rests with the audience. Those here in the studio and those sending in their votes from home represent everyone, no matter their background.” The statement left a bitter taste in her mouth, as the situation with Tripper being kept around by the higher ups was separate from the audience vote. Her statement was only true when being applied to the rest of the contestants, so she was caught being forced into a half-lie. “We hear you, we see you, and you’re justified in how you feel. This needs to be addressed.”

The rocker on stage let her have her moment, but it was clear he wasn’t much in the mood to truly listen. His arms were folded over his chest, unconsciously protecting his core. He adjusted his footing to give himself a slightly wider stance, as if bracing in defiance against her words. “Still sounds pretty Autobot to me. A lot of talking about what’s right, but not a lot of actually doing.” Vanquish knew that he was probably pushing the limit on faction-based rhetoric and, while he still burned, he pushed those feelings down. “Let’s get on with this.” He looked away from the panelist box.

Rocksteady took the cue to come up beside the smaller framed mech, eager to try to regain his footing and end the show on a higher note. “We wish you and your band the best, Vanquish. You’re an amazing talent, and I got a feeling this isn’t the last we’ve seen of you, isn’t that right folks? Now everyone put your hands together and keep it going one more time for the mech that is always ready to rock our world--Vanquish!”

The crowd erupted into applause to cue Vanquish’s exit, and Rocksteady closed out the rest of the show. Jazz propped his chin on his fist, leaning onto the table. “Well, that coulda went better. Coulda gone worse, too.” Crosscut was uncharacteristically quiet, leaning back in his seat with his arms folded over his chassis. He looked visibly distracted, likely on a call over his internal comms. 

“It could have,” came Rosanna’s reply. “Either way, it’s certainly opened up some work for me tonight. I’m going to try to get a hold of Blaster and see what we can do.” As she said before, it wasn’t like Vanquish didn’t have a point. She knew they couldn’t just let things continue as they were after the scene that just happened on stage. Rosanna didn’t run morale for as long as she did to not understand how failing to address the mech’s agitated claim would be to the overall message the competition was supposed to be giving people. 

“Well, good luck to you on that.” Jazz waved as the femme got to her feet to exit as they were given their okay to leave the box. She’d have to apologize to the contestants later for not being able to go back into the lounge like she usually would after the conclusion of a show, but she had to go do what she was good at--and what no one else likely would. There were already issues in play that countered the endorsement of inclusivity and accessibility  _ Cybertron’s Brightest _ was supposed to represent--she knew this, and she hated it. 

* * *

The remaining contestants were still back in the lounge. The storm that was Conquer’s departure had the performers sitting in silence and watching the large wall mounted screen that showed the front of the stage. They all knew Conquer wasn’t going to leave quietly. Until this point there hadn’t been too many hard feelings from those that were voted out, but as the contest started to tighten, it wasn’t likely going to stay that way.

Glam’s mouth was drawn in a small frown as he took stock of the people who really weren’t here to win. His optics first landed on Tripper, an actor paid to cause upset. The mech’s role in the competition was probably the most offensive. He only glanced briefly at Rager--at least she was actually trying to compete, and maybe there would be some satisfaction in her showing the former senator she was usually guarding that there was more to her than the grunt he never paid much mind to. His gaze then shifted to look at Ironsides. He was a large mech that was getting by picking songs with more of a comedic flare to charm the audience, but as far as his actual singing ability, Glam found him a tad bit lacking. His judgement of the boat mech probably wasn’t aided by the fact that he was planted in the show because he knew Rosanna in some way. Not that he was jealous, or anything.

“Damn ‘Cons. Always the ones to start stirring up trouble,” Cusp, a thinly built, powder blue car mech with a rather large bit of back-mounted kibble, spoke from where he’d been standing beside Ironsides. He held a tall, narrow mouthed, long stemmed glass of engex. The mech mostly performed crooning type songs. Cusp’s commentary drew Glam’s yellow optics back to the screen. The captions were rolling quickly in an effort to keep up with the dialogue. 

“He’s actin’ like them people didn’t pick ‘em to goes home. Like he deserves special treatment. But whaddaya expect from a ‘Con though, ‘it’s not fair’ is what theys were taught to say first day of trainin’.” Ironsides lightly elbowed Cusp in what was supposed to be a playful gesture. 

Glam surveyed the other contestants to see how they were taking the faction-based prodding. A stunning femme going by Stella looked like she was contemplating poisoning one of them as she swirled a glass in hand--Glam’s bet was on Ironsides. She always seemed to visibly cringe every time the mech opened his mouth. He tried to feel reassured that at least he wasn’t the  _ only _ former Decepticon still in the competition. 

Cusp chuckled, “Well, to my understanding the second thing they were taught was rioting, so hopefully that won’t be next.” 

The helicopter stood up from his seat on one of the couches next to Rager. “There are no Decepticons anymore. There are no Autobots anymore.” Glam’s back was straight and his voice teetered on authoritative. “We are all just people trying to live.”

Both Ironsides and Cusp turned to look at the white and blue mech. The larger boatformer’s expression was similar to someone being caught pilfering treats from a container. “Ey, we was just jokin’.” Cusp looked Glam over, coolly appraising him. There was uncertainty in the other’s gaze now where there hadn’t been before. He had likely made an assumption based on his color scheme--the white, blue, and gold opticed look didn’t scream Decepticon, but an Autobot likely would have gone along with the ‘joke’ or stayed quiet.

“It’s a joke now that someone called it out.” Rager chimed from the couch, shifting to physically take up more space. 

There was the smallest flare in the helicopter’s rotor blades, acknowledging the femme backing him up in calling these two out. It was interesting to see how things changed from frame to frame. As Glam noted, that would have been a distinctive tail swish if he were still a cat-sette. “We are going to have enough tension back here as the competition goes on, we don’t need faction BS adding to it.” He didn’t let up on them. The two mechs together in their supposed joking knew, in the context of postwar Cybertron, that their humor wasn’t acceptable in mixed company, and changed the topic. With that, the white and blue mech returned to his seat and flopped into the space beside Rager. She had supported him, and he would remember that.

* * *

Each of the panelists had their own staging or preparation room, and this was where Rosanna planned to seat herself for a good portion of the rest of the evening. Besides her home, this was one of the few places she could be undisturbed-- and she had a lot of calls to make. Her first call out was to Roughstuff to let him know she would be going home later than usual. Her second call was to her manager, Blaster--who was a part of the team responsible for running the show and was likely already dealing with the repercussions of tonight. 

“Hey, Rosanna! What’s going on?” Blaster had the tone he used when he knew exactly what was going on. “Everything alright?”

Rosanna smiled knowingly at his tone, leaning back on one of the couches in her room. “Well, it’s funny you ask that,” the femme began. “I think you’re already aware about the situation that just happened with Vanquish. And I think you’re also aware that we’re going to have to do something in response to his claims.” Her voice was, as always, dangerously cheerful. 

There was a diplomatic pause from Blaster’s end, in which he was thinking intently about his response. “Well. It did just happen. So we have a little time to figure out a response, it doesn’t have to be immediate.” 

“Oh no, no it does. We have less than a week to get something arranged, so we’re doing this now.” 

“It sounds like you might already have something in mind,” Blaster responded warily with a mild tinge of hopefulness.

“I sure do, as a matter of fact.” Rosanna slid further down onto the couch, leisurely crossing her legs as she looked up at the ceiling. “I think the easiest and most direct way to address the lack of representation is to bring in another panelist. And I think I know a mech that would be a good match for what we’re needing.”

There was an audible cringe followed by a small, barely perceivable exhaled laugh. “Oh no. You can’t mean…” 

Rosanna laughed brightly. “Oh yes, I do mean!” 

“Rosanna, you don’t even  _ like  _ him. You _ broke his nose _ .” A tiny bit of pleading entered his voice. 

“Okay, first of all, I keep telling everyone it was an accident. Second of all, it’s not about me or whether I like him or not. It’s about what people need to see and feel, and he’d be good for this! The show’s credibility in fairness has been called into question--for good reason, and we have to show that we’re listening, and that we actually care enough to respond with action. He’s someone people  _ know,  _ Blaster.” 

There was another long pause in which Rosanna, being familiar enough with the broadcast build, could imagine the mech rubbing his face. “Are you calling him?” He sounded tired already. 

“I sure can,” the femme replied sweetly. “Glad to have your support as always, Blaster. Have a good night!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late in posting today, sorry about that! Halloween weekend has been busy for us. Hope you all are having some fun, safe festivities in celebrating the spooky season! 
> 
> I love Rosanna so much. Who do you guys think she's going to bring in? See you all next week! <3


	8. Sucker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs featured/mentioned in this chapter are "Firework" By Katy Perry (done by Windy) and "Sucker" by the Jonas Brothers (done by Glam). 
> 
> Have fun, everyone!

“For a very special surprise, we have a new celebrity panelist that’s swooped in to join us for the rest of the season! He’ll offer his wit, his charm, and his good looks to further compliment our already stellar cast of characters. Let’s all give a big  _ Cybertron's Brightest  _ welcome to a mech that surely needs no introduction! Look up in the sky! Is it a bird? Is it a plane? It’s him—Sundor the wonder!” 

Sundor was standing at his seat between Rosanna and Crosscut, waving to the audience as he devoured the attention. He was the largest panelist, his seeker wingspan alone causing the box to have to be expanded to accommodate their width. His color scheme was a deeply rich orange, half suns with gilded edges emblazoned his wings. His fingers were tipped with golden claw points that matched the painted stripe on his bottom lip and the lines running down his cheeks. The gold of the paint and his optics were stark against the gray of his face.    
  


It took a moment for the flyer to get his fill of applause before taking his seat. His frame looked massive in comparison to the cassette next to him. His dental plates flashed in a smile as he leaned forward to rest his chin on his knuckles. “Should I leave and have them do that again?” He smirked, his want for attention seemingly insatiable. 

Crosscut seemed less than impressed by Sundor’s presence, while Jazz seemed to find some humor in his attitude. Rosanna smiled, chuckling brightly in response to the mech hamming up the audience. “I think you’re good, Sundor.” Primus, she was already starting to regret this. 

Rocksteady gestured up into the box at the newcomer. “So how are you feeling about being in the presence of Cybertron’s up-and-coming? Are you excited to see what our contestants are bringing to the table? Although I’m  _ sure  _ you’ve been keeping up at home.” 

Sundor flashed his smile. “Honestly, I had to play a little bit of catch up. I live a pretty busy life.” The seeker build was ready to talk and glad to know the camera was on him. “I think I have a few favorites, but I’m bringing something none of the other panelists can understand. I get what it’s like having changed frames. I get the nuances of making this work and how the contestants are having to adapt. So I’m kind of the perfect fit for this job.” 

It was true Sundor didn’t always have the body of a seeker. At some point in his musical career, the once bird-type cassette exchanged his small frame for something he knew would garner the attention and admiration he wanted. Not many people paid much mind to the physique of a bird, and his presence on stage and his talented voice was more often than not belittled as a fun parlor trick or side-show entertainment. It was true, then, that Sundor would bring a unique perspective that understood the challenges of performing in a less than familiar frame build, and could help impart that view onto the audience. 

There wasn’t any doubt for Rosanna that he was the right fit for the role of their fourth panelist but, historically, not many people meshed well with Sundor’s attitude--including her. She reminded herself that wasn’t the most important matter at hand. The roar of the audience in response to the mech’s appearance only affirmed his presence was very much wanted and needed in the competition. He was a face and voice people readily recognized in the music industry, and would hopefully stand for the representation that was needed; a massively successful and renowned former-Decepticon more than willing to dish out his opinion and make sure he was heard.

“We’re all excited to have you here with us to tell us what’s what, Sundor. But we also can’t wait to see what’s all in store for us tonight!” The crowd broke out into cheers and applause again as Rocksteady gestured in encouragement. Rosanna excitedly clapped along with them, her shoulders and frame drawn up in excitement. She knew who was going to start them out, and she knew how hard the femme had worked to practice for tonight. “As always, each show is more fantastic, more over the top than the last! Our first contestant is here to blow us away with that sweet, sweet voice of hers. Performing “Firework” by Earth’s Katy Perry, everyone put your hands together for your favorite powerful pink diva--Windy!” 

The pink racer jogged onto the stage, her smile a mile wide as she blew kisses to the audience. She looked like she loved every minute of life on the stage. She playfully over-acted a kiss onto the side of Rocksteady's helm, leaning on his shoulder to do so and kicking up one of her feet. If cute was a game, she was out to win it. The host reacted with mock-surprise and faux-embarrassment before taking his exit. There was only a moment more of shuffling as Windy took her spot and her group of dancers fell in behind her. 

It was strikingly clear to Rosanna that Windy was excited to perform for the panelists tonight. During that week’s backstage interviews, the femme confided that the song she would be performing was one she knew well before the competition, and held very dear to her spark. She had always known there would be a night for this song, and this was the one. Windy knew she was opening, and she planned on pouring every bit of herself into the performance. 

The music started up with a pulsing synthetic sound, and she began to sing. Windy started building the story and convincing everyone that it was her own, her voice slowly getting louder, until the pink femme was able to open up her voice to resound throughout the studio. 

_ You just gotta ignite the light _

_ And let it shine _

_ Just own the night _

_ Like the Fourth of July _

During parts of the song she and her dancers hopped to the rhythm and pumped one of their arms in the air. The audience didn’t need much encouragement to join in from their seats. She relished the moments where she could belt the song, showing off what her voice was capable of, her vents running hard as she worked. The screens and lights around the stage surrounded her in flowery bursts of color, showering the entire room in her celebration of being there.

_ 'Cause baby you're a firework _

_ Come on show 'em what your worth _

_ Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!" _

_ As you shoot across the sky-y-y _

The song ended with the crowd giving a deafening roar of applause, Windy waving to everyone and blowing kisses to the crowd. Her vents were clearly running hard, but her smile never wavered, her very being radiating joy. Rosanna was on her feet already, raising her hands around her face to amplify her voice. “YOU WERE AMAZING!” She belted over the cheers. 

Windy acknowledged Rosanna with a wave before gesturing to Rocksteady as he walked out onto center stage to join the femme. “Wow my dear, and I mean  _ wow _ ! I think that might be your best performance yet!” The host clapped her on the arm and the singer flashed a beautiful smile at the host before turning to beam at the panelists. 

Their newest member spoke first. “I did mention I had favorites.” From the tone it was meant to be halfway flirtatious. Sundor had actually been absorbed in watching Windy perform, even at times closing his optics to take in her voice and not just her appearance. “You came here with drive, and talent and the platform can give you whatever else you need. You have to keep it up.” He made a motion of tapping the side of one hand into the palm of the other. “Don’t give anyone a chance to outshine you.” 

Windy shuffled her pedes cutely as she prepared to speak, “Performing for Rosanna during the competition has been wonderful. Honestly though--” She moved slightly to her left to address the other femme, and grasped her hands in front of her in an apologetic gesture. “--Rosanna please don’t take this the wrong way. You have been wonderful, and so friendly.” Going back to her original speaking position she addressed the seeker, “Sundor, I didn’t come into this competition expecting to meet you. I really have watched your career and you’ve been so inspirational to me. I -- I just wanted the chance to tell you that.” 

There was a small poofing up in pride the flyer didn’t bother to hide. He loved the praise. “You watched my career and I’m looking forward to watching yours.” There was a small curl of what almost sounded like genuine warmth. 

Rosanna was honestly surprised at the response Sundor had to Windy’s admiration. She was used to him filling space with empty commentary and would generally seize any opportunity he could to make a situation more about himself, but she was glad to see he was actually taking this seriously, and apparently, a little to spark. The response helped quell some of her worries she had. Hopefully this behavior would continue--and wouldn’t always have to be prefaced with an unintentional bribery of praise.

Rosanna leaned forward to speak, feeling the attention had shifted for her and the others to step in. “I had the privilege earlier this week to have a sneak peak of what you were going to do tonight--and I know just how much this means to you. I also think you made sure everyone here knew that, and felt it down to our cores. And it’s an inspiration for us to be on this journey with you, Windy.” 

Crosscut leaned forward over the table, having to crane himself to be able to look at Rosanna across the expanse that was Sundor’s frame. “Primus, Rosanna, you’re so far away now.” There was a round of laughter from the audience at that. “She did have a lot of energy, and she did put a lot of herself into it, but that’s only to be expected when you’re trying to win over people’s sparks. I don’t feel there’s any doubt that she wants to win this,  _ my  _ perspective of concern is if she’s really bringing anything we haven’t seen before.” He made a flippant gesture outward with his wrist. 

Jazz leaned back in his seat, his hands knitted and tucked behind his helm leisurely. “You’re just mad your opera singer’s gone, mech.” Crosscut frowned sourly, not being able to see Jazz. The car mech smiled at his colleague’s silence, and the soft laughter that came from the audience. “It was a really fun song choice, and it was a good performance, and you worked really well on the dance crew for this. As far as advice goes--I’ve warned Glam about this, and I’ll say it to you too.” He removed one of the hands behind his helm to gesture lightly, articulating his words. “Every time you up the bar, you have to work that much harder the next time you step out onto this stage. Keep up the good work, but don’t burn yourself out.” The black and white mech turned to look at the pink femme next to him, “although maybe Rosanna might have some more input on that.” 

Rosanna nodded her helm. “There is a balance in making sure you’re not forcing yourself to run at 300% every single time you come out to perform--it kinda starts all blending together after a while. Had to learn that the hard way myself,” she replied with a slight laugh. “I think the best way to go about approaching that is by choosing different aspects of yourself you want to share with us.” Rosanna, a long time ago, had developed a brand for herself. She was effervescent, and while she placed herself into that small box at the beginning, later, when that was all people expected from her, it became exhausting. If possible, she wanted to save Windy from that same, narrow fate. She deserved to have more freedom in expressing herself. “We know you’re excited to be here, we know you love music, and we know how exceptionally gifted you are--and that’s such a good story. And we’re excited to see more!”

Windy was nodding the entire time she was listening, though it did appear that tiredness was settling into her frame. “Thank you all so much. I’ll be back next week with more to show you, for sure!” Windy turned to the audience, waving her arm high in the air for a dramatic wave. “Thank you all!” The crowd erupted into applause, cueing Rocksteady to step forward to progress the show into its next leg while Windy jogged away backstage. “What a way to start out the night, folks! We’re going to take a break, and when we come back we have another talented femme who’s ready to bring the house down. Hold onto your seats, because  _ Rager _ is up next!” 

The next few songs and commentary sets passed with few disruptions. Everyone was seemingly trying except for Tripper, who like usual, came out to upset. He made a comment in regards to Crosscut’s preference for opera and said he was going to grace the audience with the best cowpoke opera they’d ever heard and proceeded to yodel through a song. While he was probably right in the fact it was the best cowpoke opera the audience had heard, it was also the only one. Jazz was in hysterics by the end of it. 

It had been a long and busy week for Rosanna--it had been a long and busy day. Her usual wellspring of energy felt like it was starting to run dry, and Tripper’s performance left her rubbing her face in exasperation. During the next break between performances she placed an order for a high-energy pick-me-up, to help keep herself awake enough to get through the rest of the evening. Glam was performing next, and him and the rest of the contestants deserved her awareness, attention, and enthusiasm. 

“Plans later?” Sundor questioned with a suggestive quirk of his brow and a toothy smirk as Rosanna’s drink was brought out to her. 

“Oh yes,” she replied, feeling more of a weight of tiredness settle into her frame at the question as she adjusted her curly straw. “My big plan is to pass out as soon as I get home.” She took a long and loud sip from the drink and a deliberate side-eyed glance, indicating she didn’t want to be questioned further on the matter.

It was nearing time for the next round to start, when the stagehands cued the stage to be plunged into darkness--an ongoing theme for Glam’s performances, it would seem. Even if the mech had some sort of issue with Rosanna, she was still excited to see what he would do. She wasn’t going to allow the situation to come between her honest evaluation and support of his talent, though she sadly was coming to terms with the idea she might have to be a little more distant in doing so. As much as she wanted to try to fix or address what might be upsetting him, people were allowed to not like her, and she had to respect that.

There was a bustle of noise and stage workings, mechs shuffling out onto stage in the dark followed by the sound of transformation noises. Rosanna quietly drummed her hands excitedly on the edge of the table as the countdown to start was given over their internal comms. Low lighting illuminated the stage, hard-light holograms flaring up to give the backdrop of a plaza backed by an entertainment district. Neon lights of different faux-establishments cast blues and pinks onto the forms of vehicle-mode mechs that were occupying the plaza. The ambient sound of a bustling night-out was playing over the speakers, immersing everyone in the scene. The studio was quiet in anticipation.

A spotlight suddenly shone down on Glam, his form leaning casually against a lamppost with his arms crossed over his chassis and a pede knocked back to rest against it, the reveal causing the crowd to cheer. One particularly loud  _ ‘wooo!’ _ was bound to have been picked up of the mics. He started to sing, and the music followed.

_ We go together _

_ Better than birds of a feather, you and me _

_ We change the weather, yeah _

_ I'm feeling heat in December when you're 'round me _

Glam took metered steps away from the lamppost toward the mechs that were parked in a row. While the dancers were different builds, one thing that was immediately noticeable was that their rooflines were all about the same height. The helicopter utilized his new frame and in a motion typically reserved for take off, sprung up and nimbly landed on the closest of the roofs. The dancing was smooth and the footwork careful as he navigated his way across the line. The smile that spread on Jazz’s face at the stunt was bright. As much as the panelist had warned Glam against gimmicky production numbers, it didn’t mean the black and white mech didn’t get immense enjoyment out of them.

_ I've been dancing on top of cars and stumbling out of bars _

_ I follow you through the dark, can't get enough _

_ You're the medicine and the pain, the tattoo inside my brain _

_ And, baby, you know it's obvious _

The singer reached the end of the line and hopped up, moving to fall backwards in a faux-swoon. The last mech in the line popped out of his alt-mode startlingly quick to catch Glam before smoothly tilting the singer out of his arms and back onto his pedes. There was barely a pause as Glam continued the song.  
  


_ I'm a sucker for you _

His pedes began to tap quickly in a fast paced dance across the surface of the stage, making his way across the plaza to the beat of the song. He engaged the audience on occasion, but mainly acted within the scene like a lovestruck mech singing about someone he was stumbling all over town for. 

_ You say the word and I'll go anywhere blindly _

_ I'm a sucker for you, yeah _

_ Any road you take, you know that you'll find me _

Glam hopped up onto the lamppost, using the momentum to swing around to look directly at Rosanna, meeting her optics--something he so far avoided doing completely until this moment, causing her to mildly start in surprise. He held onto the lamppost with one hand while his free one went from being held outward in her direction to being placed on the center of his chassis over his spark.   
  


_ Don't complicate it _

_ 'Cause I know you and you know everything about me. _

The moment passed, and his optics drifted from Rosanna’s as he resumed the rest of the performance. She was watching and listening, but was stuck back in the moment with the lyrics that were, without question, directed at her. His dancing became more of a wandering, stumbling, faux-drunk dance, a goofy, toothy smile plastered across his face as he put himself into the song.   
  


The mechs that were all lined up in their alt-modes transformed, beginning to interact with the setting--some acting as if they were waiting in lines to go inside a club, leaning against buildings, and miming chatting with each other and having conversations. Glam lined up with center stage, some of the mechs playfully shaking their heads at the grinning helicopter-mech as he walked, waving at them before he found his mark at the mic stand at center stage. The instruments faded to a soft tapping as he began the last round of lyrics, holding onto the stand in a near loving embrace.   
  


_ I've been dancing on top of cars _

_ And stumbling out of bars _

_ I follow you through the dark _

_ Can't get enough _

Glam’s golden optics lifted back up to Rosanna to lock with hers. His hold on the mic stand went from two hands to one. He moved to gesture along with the song. His hand made a tightening motion at his chassis, then to his helm and gently flicking away as though he was some poor soul with a hangover headache. His optics remained intimately on her. 

_ You're the medicine and the pain _

_ The tattoo inside my brain _

_ And baby, you know it's obvious _

_ I'm a sucker for you _ **_  
  
_ **

He removed the mic from the stand, beginning to slowly back up to the returned, low pulse of the instrumentals, his gaze once again resuming their engagement with the audience. Rosanna felt speechless, her optics wide as confusion and surprise fogged her processors. This wasn’t what she was expecting  _ at all.  _ The song started to wind down as Glam slowly started to saunter towards the exit to backstage-- which had been converted to look like the door to a bar.    
  


_ And you're making the typical me _

_ Break my typical rules _

_ It's true, I'm a sucker for you _

_ I'm a sucker for you. _

At the last note the mech comically stumbled through the door, and the lights cut to black, leaving the audience to burst into a sharp and sudden roar of cheers and applause.

“And he’s out of here!” Rocksteady’s voice started over the mic as the lighting adjusted for the mech’s entrance onto the stage from the audience. “No time to stick around, tonight! No sir, that mech’s got places to be, femmes to see--” He turned to gesture up at Rosanna in the panelist box. “One femme in particular perhaps, if my optics served me right!” 

Rosanna’s face flushed warm at the accusation--she wasn’t sure if the audience or the cameras had caught the gestures or his line of sight, but it was apparently obvious to everyone who Glam had been singing to during specific parts of the song. With the host’s commentary, however, post-editing was going to be sure to capture that angle.

“I’d be careful if I were you though, Glam.” Rocksteady turned to look at one of the cameras, raising a finger in a supposedly humored warning. “Our Rosanna is a charmer, but there’s a long line of broken sparks behind that one.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for posting late again today, it's been one heck of a week! I remember having a lot of fun with writing the scene for Glit's song this round.
> 
> Sundor made his appearance! We wanted to make sure the third of the cassette trio got to be involved somehow, after all, even as just a side character (for this story, anyway). If you have any questions about him, feel free to ask! We're considering possibly writing another piece that actually features him as a main character in the future that touches more on his situation. 
> 
> Poor Rosanna is getting a lot of mixed messages from this Glam fellow, though, the poor dear. Next week, Glit and Rosie have some chats with their friends about all this... and she gets to thinking about some things--or someone, more specifically. Thanks for sticking with us, guys! <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No songs this chapter, only pining.

Glam felt stupid. Sometimes when he was onstage he felt oddly brave, with that deep feeling of invincibility brought by anonymity that flooded into him and robbed him of his good sense. He was brutal in reminding himself of what he needed to keep in focus as he trotted across the lot, seeing as he apparently needed to be reminded. He didn’t need to have Rosanna actually paying attention to him. He needed this chance to start over. Glam continued reminding himself as he entered the dorm building. He needed to stay sobered up. He needed the prize money in order to do what he’d promised a long time ago; he felt a pang at remembering when that promise was made. 

The helicopter’s gait slowed as he stopped at the door to his shared room with Rager. _He just needed to make it through this._ His favorite mantra rolled over in his thoughts like a fiddle toy in someone’s fingers. His helm lightly thudded against the closed door and a small vent of air escaped him as he tried to wrestle his flyaway feelings into a more manageable and compact form. 

The door slid open. Rager wasn’t there; not yet. The other contestants were in the backstage lounge where he was still supposed to be, at least for another couple minutes. Glam went to his recharge berth and flopped backwards on it to stare at the ceiling. He brought his hands over his chassis, emotion uncomfortably burbling in his chest. The competition was going fine. He was dealing with the stress of it admirably and hadn’t lost his cool yet, although some of his interactions with fans was pushing him close. He knew they only really wanted him as he was now--a smooth plated, clean colored helicopter mech. A perfectly acceptable frame-type for a performer, according to functionalists ideals that were still lurking about their society. Anger came up his throat, bitter and acrid. 

Perhaps that was why he acted as he had. The attention made him want and crave the affection of the one person that saw and accepted him as he was, paws, claws and nub-tailed. He tried not let his mind wander, but as it did, his anger lessened. It was such a short time they shared together, but they had grown so close. He remembered nights talking in quiet voices, moments of leaning into each other in quiet commiserations, raucous engex fueled laughter, and perhaps less than coordinated dancing that all brought a hint of life back to that slice of gray war. She was everything he could have asked for. 

He shuttered his optics in an attempt to preserve the filament, and succeeded after a moment of focus. Rosanna hadn’t asked him to stay. He would have, he knew, if she had. He didn’t think there was a person strong enough to deny themselves that feeling of living a life of unbridled affection and acceptance. He would have compromised all that he was in order to feel that way longer. 

He was in the same position staring at the ceiling when Rager found him sometime later when she came into the room. “Ironsides went home. Good Riddance, I was getting done with that bot.” She crossed the distance from the door to sit on her berth. Glam was obviously awake, but didn’t move to greet her. “So, you gonna tell me what’s going on in that lugnut of a brain module of yours, or what?”

The white and blue mech barely lifted one of his hands off his chest and his optics shuttered slightly, softening the light they cast onto his cheeks. The fingers of his hand moved a little as if catching a bit of emotion that was hanging in an invisible miasma around him. “Just thinking about how it felt to have her fingers threaded with mine.” 

“Gross.” The femme leaned back on her berth, still looking at Glam. “So that’s what all that on stage was about, then.” She loosely gestured with her hand as she spoke. Her tone wasn’t harsh or belittling. 

“So, did you figure something out? The other day you said you were going to avoid her until you knew what you were going to do about your situation with her.”

He was silent a moment longer. “No, I’m just dumb.” Glam set his hand back down on his chest and his optics were still focused on an indeterminate point on the ceiling.

“As long as you know,” she responded with a playfully flat tone. She paused for a moment, her gaze intent as she continued to look at the mech whose mind seemed very far away. “There are probably going to be consequences to all that ogling you did tonight, you know. Consequences I’m likely not going to be able to shield you from.” 

“I still love her.” His tone betrayed how disappointed he was with himself. How truly dumb he felt about that fact. 

Rager vented air, her expression softening as her shoulders slumped slightly. She pushed herself up from her berth, crossing the gap between them to sit on the edge of Glam’s. “I didn’t know it was that serious.” She replied, a genuine tone of apology hanging in her voice. 

“It wasn’t. It didn’t have the chance. We both knew we couldn’t.” His voice was oddly flat. The mech had rarely ever spoken about his time spent with Rosanna on the Autobot base. Who would have believed him? Who would’ve cared?

Rager cycled air again. “But the feelings were there. You wouldn’t feel the way you do now if that hadn’t been the case.” The femme looked out through the large span of windows. “So what happened?” 

* * *

“Soooo, how’d the show go?” Twirl drew out the first word to hopefully create a playful tone. It was obvious the femme flyer watched the show that night--not that Rosanna could say for certain, but it felt like her friend was following up on a habit of feigning ignorance when she knew Rosanna was upset, giving her the option to vent about things or brush them off.

Rosanna was exceedingly grateful for her reaching out. “Yeah uh, it could have gone better,” Rosanna replied with a strained laugh. The small femme sat on the edge of her berth, her optics warm and her chassis tight. Twirl was on the other end of a call she had over her comms, having reached out to the distraught popstar after her return that evening from the studio lot. 

“Well, hey, at least Armorhide’s gone, right?” The dancer tried to put an optimistic spin on the night for Rosanna. 

“HAHA, yeah, thank Primus,” she exhaled, rubbing at her forehelm. “I was getting _really_ done with his routines. I can’t believe people kept him around longer than Conquest. Although, apparently Armorhide was supposed to be my contestant connection? And not--y’know, Glam? Who tonight was _very_ intent on letting me know I knew who he was?” She threw her arms up in flippant exasperation. 

Rosanna only knew Armorhide in passing from being in the entertainment industry. He was a noted comedian, though Rosanna herself didn’t find him to be very funny. He was typically paired with her during award shows or other various hosting events, knowing she was generally diplomatic enough to refrain from punching him in the face--not that she hadn’t longed to do so. “I thought for sure it was supposed to be Glam--but uh, I guess not! So, surprise there!” 

“So, about Glam…” Her friend’s voice trailed off as if expecting the singer to continue after the prompt. 

“Mmhm, yeah? What about Glam?” 

There was a distinct, poignant silence for a moment from Twirl. “I don’t think he hates you.” 

“Yeah no, I don’t think he does!” Rosanna’s voice was cheerfully belligerent. She moved to stand, feeling the need to get up and move about the room. “Wasn’t uh, wasn’t expecting that, if I’m being honest. Was kinda pretty sure he hated me! Or didn’t like me, at least.” 

“You sure he’s not an ex?” The question was a tad bit hesitant. 

“He’s _not_ one of my exes. But Twirl, I know him. There _is_ something familiar about him. And the way he looked at me…” She trailed off, beginning to pace anxiously in front of her berth.

Twirl was listening and thinking, trying to come up with something meaningfully helpful. “How does that make you feel? Like, excited? Happy? Wanna purge your tank and run?” 

“All of the above?” Rosanna’s response came out in an anxious breath, feeling her tank clench at recalling how the mech had looked at her on stage only hours before. “Sad? Warm? Hopeful, I guess?” 

Though they were only doing a voice call, there was something in the incredulous tone that betrayed her friend’s expression of utter confusion, “Were you dumped? I don’t remember that. Usually you’re the dumper, not the dumpee.” There was a short pause. “You would’ve told me if you were dumped.” 

Rosanna was instantly reminded about Rocksteady’s inflammatory jab about the ‘long line of broken sparks’ behind her, and there was a long pause as the femme felt the corners of her optics heat as the filament threatened to melt. “No, no one dumped me.” There was a newly found tremble to the femme’s voice. Rosanna hated the reputation that had been built around her, but it wasn’t one that she could outright deny. There was truth to it, and that was what stung her the most. She was always the one to leave or end things in her relationships. On top of that, the harassment she got for it felt like she was being punished or judged for trying to be happy--for trying to find someone who truly resonated with her. Because she remembered what that felt like.

The line of thought jogged a memory of a name and face she hadn’t thought of in a long time--and that was what put her in tears. 

“Rosie- I, slag, I didn’t mean to make you cry!” 

“No, it’s--you’re fine, Twirl. I’m fine,” Rosanna tried to quickly collect herself, raising her forearm to wipe away the melted filament. “It’s just been a long week. It was the stress from work, the whiplash from Glam, and Rocksteady being an aft. It’s okay.” 

“Primus, I’m surprised you didn’t fragging drag him.” 

“Oh, I would have if the cameras weren’t still rolling,” Rosanna replied with an angry laugh, widely gesturing with her arms as her pacing became more intense. “It’s not any of his fragging business to say something like that on live television. I’ll get him back in my own way, don’t you worry.” She was grateful for the temporary redirection of her emotions, but the anger washed out of her in a slow wave, Rosanna lacking the energy to keep it going. Exhaustion stole itself into her frame, and she sat herself back down on her berth. 

“I think I’m just tired, Twirl. Too many dumb things right after the other. Getting some recharge should help a lot, and then I can figure out what to do about this Glam situation later.” 

“Seems like if you give him enough time _he_ might have to figure out what to do about the Glam situation. He only has a few more weeks at most.” The dancer reminded the other femme that Glam wasn’t going to be able to hide forever.

“I know, but I mean in like, dealing with him here on the show. We’re supposed to be doing more formal interviews with everyone at some point.” She paused. “And I was kinda wanting to take everyone out for karaoke. Eventually.” Rosanna let out a long sigh--she’d think about all that later. “Anyway, thanks for checking in on me. You wanna get dinner tomorrow and catch up on Galley Fight? I think I could really use the friend time.”

“Sure! I’ve been craving Vosian--like a large plate that’s about the size of my head. The spicier the better, OH, and some of those long crunchy sticks too.”

“Love you, Twirly-girl. ‘Night.”

Rosanna ended the call, staring at a point in the wall before she let herself fall back onto the cushioned berth. There weren’t many ridiculous luxuries she allowed for herself in her apartment, but an over-large, comfortable berth with pillows and blankets was one of them. It was something she never had, but had always wanted. 

She continued to stare up at the ceiling for an indeterminable amount of time, letting her thoughts wander and her feelings follow after. She reached to grab one of her pillows, wrapping her arms around it and clutching it to her front in a desperate attempt to quell the swell of loneliness in her spark. 

Rosanna actively stopped seeking out partners for romantic relationships some time ago. Tired of the sparkache, she opted to take the time to solely focus on herself, her career, and her friends. It was good for her, she knew, to not have to worry about the stress of maintaining a romantic relationship, of falling into a routine of overextending herself to meet someone’s needs and expectations of her. She was tired of the eventual let-down and feeling of betrayal when she found her partners really only wanted an idealized image of her, and not the full extent of who she actually was. 

Even though she was happy for the break, for the freedom and companionship she found in her own company, it didn’t entirely fill the hole of loneliness that always existed in her spark. Ever since she was created, she knew she had a desperate, burning need to be known, to be seen, to be loved. She had created the image of someone she knew people would be drawn to. A ray of sunshine that supported others, that wanted to fill the world with love, happiness, hope, and joy. Though that person was truly a part of her, and was someone she wanted to be, that wasn’t all that was there. 

She so badly wanted someone she could genuinely share herself with. She craved companionship, a genuine feeling of being able to relax, of being able to exist as more than just ‘ _Rosanna, the pop star’_. She wanted to be vulnerable, and honest. She wanted to be loved, and to love someone just as much for all that they were. The worst thing about it, is that she had that once. Or almost did. 

Rosanna buried her face in the pillow, stifling the sting at the corners of her optics with the pressure. She knew what it felt like to have that kind of love and acceptance. She’d spent years trying to find it again in different mechs or femmes, or at least something close to it. No matter how much she tried, how hard she tried to move on, she knew the standard she set for herself. And she couldn’t find it. She couldn’t find _him._

It had been so long since she last thought of Glit. A long time ago, she actively forced herself to try to bury and compress those memories of him so she could try to move on, but the feelings persisted. After they parted ways, he was taken practically to the other side of the war, and it didn’t take long for her to lose track of him. Every time she moved to a new base she would try to ask if anyone had seen or knew about a white Decepticon cat-sette medic and his whereabouts. Every once in a while she would get a scrap of information, but those were seldom to begin with, and even those eventually stopped. She was left to wonder the fate of the mech, and after a long time of silence and dead ends, became too afraid to learn the answer. To give herself peace, she tried her best to move on--and yet, here she was again. Stuck remembering. Stuck wondering. Stuck missing him.

Her thoughts strayed to the mech that inadvertently brought all this to mind in the first place. Rosanna slowly lowered the pillow from her face, staring up at the ceiling with a feeling akin to dread. Glam was someone she knew--intimately, apparently. The way he had looked at her stirred a familiarity, and the feeling began to mix with her thoughts of Glit. Her mind strayed to the color scheme the mech had chosen--the white and blue, the gold optics. The noticeable fangs he flashed when he was giving a particularly toothy smile--

“No. Absolutely not.” Rosanna raised the pillow to smack herself in the face with a loud _-fwumfph-_ . She was not going to do this to herself, she was not going to do this to him. She was not going to humor the idea that Glam and Glit could possibly be the same person. Even if there were some _really_ uncanny similarities between the two, setting up even a little bit of hope would be both cruel and unfair. 

At that, Rosanna knew she needed to recharge. She was done stewing in her own thoughts and getting herself worked up over lost loves and flirtatious mechs making eyes at her. She’d be clear of thought and sound of mind in the morning. She had a fun evening with Twirl to look forward to. The pink femme moved herself up to the head of the bed, curling into the soft heap of blankets. The momentarily abandoned pillow was dragged into the nest of soft things with her, and the small femme wrapped herself around it before drifting off into recharge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosanna definitely still remembers that cat man, and most definitely is not over him, the poor dear. And Glit is having difficulties keeping that pining of his in check--which isn't helping! 
> 
> The next chapter is another flashback, and we start really getting to the heart of the relationship between these two and why they mean so much to each other. Rosanna reveals a bit more of who she is beneath that bubbly exterior, and we go into where they both started before the war. Some interesting stuff coming up!
> 
> I also wanted to go ahead and make the comment here that everyone in this fic is queer, not a straight soul for miles. You won't find 'em even if you squint!
> 
> For anyone who is interested, I've posted Sundor's design on my twitter (@thepumpkinbot). As always, thank you guys for staying with us and reading our fic. This was a labor of love(haha) for the two of us, and it means a lot. See you next week!


	10. A Long, Long Time Ago Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on the Autobot base, Rosanna and Glit have a heart to heart talk--and begin to see just how much they understand each other.

**Chapter 10: A Long, Long Time Ago Part 3**

_ A long, long time ago... _

The following morning, Rosanna and Glit sleepily and reluctantly parted ways--Rosanna so she could carry out her shift in communications, and Glit so he could return and help out in the medbay before there was questioning about his whereabouts. 

It was difficult for her to focus. All that day she was thinking about Glit and their situation. More than once she was caught uncharacteristically staring off into the distance and had to be snapped out of her daze. What happened the night before with Sidetrack set off a series of thoughts she often didn’t have the time or luxury to linger on. The job and persona she built for herself revolved around not dwelling on things and acting as a force of optimism and positivity. It’s what people had come to expect from her, and what she herself wanted to represent. 

That didn’t mean it wasn’t smothering at times. There were a lot of things about herself she kept close, and what happened last night felt like it shed a spotlight on them. She wanted to talk to Glit--actually talk to him, and she had a feeling he was someone who would uniquely understand her position. She knew that it might not be that night, and it might not be that week, but with the plasma storm continuing to rage on with its end still far from sight, she knew she had the time to work up her courage to broach the subject with him. 

Until then, people were picking up on the air of distractedness that fell about Rosanna. It was easy enough for her to write it off as her being in her head and thinking about her creative endeavors, saying she felt particularly inspired. It wasn’t entirely a lie, either. Her interactions with Glit and thoughts as of late led to quite a few notes and scribbles for new songs and messages. She always wrote and sang from the spark, after all, and her spark was feeling more full than usual.

One evening, after she had felt enough time had passed and her thoughts were effectively gathered, she approached Glit in asking him to help her hash out some lyrics to a new piece she had been working on. The two had taken to working on her music together, and asking for his input wasn’t something terribly out of place for an evening event for them to share. There were a few nooks, crannies, and catwalks around base the two frequented when they wanted more privacy--usually places accessible to smaller mechs and more difficult to reach or navigate by those with a larger width and footprint. 

The two had reached a stopping point with the song they were working on, when it felt like the right time to open up. “Glit, there’s actually some other things I wanted to talk to you about, too” she stated lightly, gently turning over the datapad that rested between them. She still wore a smile and her voice was still bright, betraying her nervousness.  
  


Glit’s helm tilted, his optics looking through the thin glass of her visor to take in the subtle lines of expression on her face. “You know you can talk to me.” His voice was warm. He shifted his stance to illustrate he was giving her more attention. The place they’d found that evening was dimly lit, and wasn’t prone to very much traffic at all. It was probably technically off-limits to the Decepticon, but enforcement of that technicality wasn’t likely to happen with Rosanna chaperoning him. 

She gave something of a relieved smile, but the bit of tension behind her visor was still present. “I know.” She leaned back against the wall behind them, idly lacing her fingers together in her lap. “It’s just. There are things I don’t get the chance to talk about with people. Not because I don’t think they don’t care about how I’m feeling. I just don’t think… a lot of people I know will really understand the perspective, or quite get why I feel the way I do.” She turned her helm to smile at him earnestly. “And I think you probably will.” 

In an effort to put her at ease whether consciously or not the feline build mirrored her and leaned his shoulder into the wall and rested his helm against it, still looking at her. “We are both up against expectations of us. Constantly. It’s hard for people to listen when they’ve already decided everything about you.” His vents cycled in an exasperated way. 

“Yes, that exactly.” Rosanna nodded, her shoulders relaxing. “People look at us and see our builds and badges, our paws and our smiles, and make up their minds and think they know exactly what box to put us in without having to ask any questions.” Her optics lowered, as did the lightness of her voice. “What happened the other night with Sidetrack wasn’t right. That shouldn’t have happened. All he cared about was the sigil you wear on your shoulder.” She moved her hands in restrained gestures. “What you’ve done and continue to do didn’t matter, who you are, or how you live your life and how you care for others. All he saw was a badge, and that was enough for him to want you dead.” The corners of her mouth turned downward. “Because that’s where we still are in all this.” 

“Doesn’t feel like we got what we were promised huh?” His voice was quiet in volume. His tone was serious, weighed down with years of endurance and the foresight to know there were still years ahead, so long as he remained alive. “Freedom is the right of all sentient beings.’ ‘Form doesn’t equal function.’ ‘We are being deceived.” He recited the infamous rallying cries of both Optimus Prime and Megatron. “Yeah, some things haven’t changed. We just found more, and less comfortable boxes to put people in.” He was still a Decepticon. He wouldn’t back up on that. He believed in Megatron’s original ideas with his whole spark, and into the very metal of his struts. It was already obvious to him that he believed in those ideas more than Megatron had. 

Rosanna nodded. She was quiet for a long moment before she spoke again. “The fact we’re still fighting each other doesn’t make any sense,” she replied. “It’s meaningless. The Decepticons won this war a long time ago. They accomplished what they set out to do. The government that was in place doesn’t exist anymore, and because no one wanted to stop, now we don’t even have a home.” she looked down at her hands, resorting to fussing at them instead of gesturing. “Can’t exactly go around saying things like that here, though. Doesn’t quite fit in with the ‘morale’ part of the ‘morale and communications’ title.” 

Glit sidled closer until he could rest his chin on her shoulder. She’d been right that he would understand. Some bit of tension in him relaxed. “I have to think that if we feel this way that others do too. I’m already in hot water with the uppers of my faction for not refusing medical care to Autobots, so I can’t exactly go around saying these things either.” He looked down at her hands watching her thumb worry at her fingers. “This war isn’t going on anymore for why it started. It’s going on to see who gets the right to blame the other side for everything we lost. Our home, our amicas, some conjunxes, the death of all these MTOs that never even got to live, and even the galaxy being willing to tolerate our race. No one wants to be at fault for losing all of that. We are all to blame and deep down everyone knows it.” The honesty was bruising. It’s how he felt, even though he’d avoided carrying a weapon, and for the most part managed to keep his paws ‘clean’. He was as much to blame as anyone else--maybe except Optimus and Megatron. 

Rosanna nodded her helm in agreement and acknowledgement. “I know there are others that feel that way too--but there are still a lot out there that are more focused on the blaming rights. And having to kill whoever doesn’t fit into the box they say is ‘right’.” She tilted her helm to rest against Glit’s, grateful. “They don’t want to do the hard part and admit we’re all in the wrong, and that we have to stop, so we can live again. It’s honestly why I sing about a lot of the things I do.” She smiled ruefully. “I try to sing about the feelings and moments of life that we all miss, and want to look forward to having again.” She moved one of her hands to cover and gently grab at his paw. “I guess I feel maybe if I sing it loud enough and reach enough people, it’ll start resonating somehow, and make it a reality. That’s what I can hope for, anyway.”

There was a barely perceivable flinch from him as she took his paw. Rosanna never had shied from the fact he was different, but because of that, it made her distinctly treat him in ways that made him for once feel like he was the same as her. It distracted him for a second and his brows furrowed minutely as he scolded himself. He was quiet as he reviewed what she said. Glit opened his mouth and paused again, briefly wondering if he was overstretching in the comparison he wanted to make. He decided to proceed though. It felt like if he was ever going to speak these things aloud, now was the time to do it. 

“It’s like my doctoring.” His optics were half shuttered as he thought. “I will continue to treat everyone regardless of badge. I will treat everyone as though they deserve to live, simply ‘cause they do. I will continue to see everyone as a person, and hopefully someday people will understand it’s really that simple.” 

Rosanna turned her helm and posture slightly to better look at Glit, warmth and admiration radiating from her smile. “I hope so, too.” She rested her fore-helm against his. “I knew you would get it, Glit. Thank you.” They were both quiet at that, softly taking in the feeling of solidarity they had with each other, and the feeling of mutual understanding they both desperately needed. Both of them, in that moment, could feel down to the essence of their beings that they would remember this for a long time to come. 

“I think I know how we both got here. Why we both feel and see the way we do.” She paused, air in her vents stilling for a long moment before she spoke again. “Before the war started, I was a servant to a large estate. Always had been. I was just one of many on the staff, and we were all made to look the same, all given the same orders and rules. I was painted all in white and told to blend into the walls. To neither be seen or heard. Ever.”

She smiled. “And, then, I heard the Autobots’ call. The call and claim that ‘freedom is the right of all sentient beings.’ That we, every single person, had the right to their own life. To be free to be all that they are. And I listened.” 

She brought up a hand to gesture to her frame. “When everything started going to the pits, I took the opportunity to run and joined the ranks. I raised my voice above the noise of the world falling apart so everyone could hear me. I painted myself pink so everyone could see me. And no matter what happened, I was never going to be silent again.”

This had been a dance of sorts. A back and forth sharing of information, simulating cautious steps that slowly gained more familiarity and courage. Glit had been learning to dance with Rosanna since they'd first met. “I was a commissioned mech. I worked in a wealthy mech’s house as his personal doctor, so I received the best training possible. Aced all my tests, all of which were proctored remotely. So the person who approved my crosses never saw me. At first, I didn’t have a good understanding of what I was. As time went on, I did repairs for a small audience of this mech’s friends, where they gawked and gave over-emphasized praise of how well I did considering my limitations, and gave me pats on the head for my temperament. It became clear, after a long time, that I was a rich bot’s living joke.” 

He felt a certain tightness in his throat. “A cold-constructed medic without hands, good at it, for what I was. I helped whoever I could, even inviting leakers into the house’s galley for repairs. I knew what I was created for, and I built myself around the idea of compassion. I knew to my core I could help people, whether they believed in me or not. Form. Doesn’t. Determine. Function.” Glit said these words with a conviction. These words had changed his life. “I wasn’t going to be a medic despite my form. I was going to be a medic, because it’s what I am.” 

Rosanna heard his words, his story. She heard his passion and his anger, how deeply he felt, and how bitterly, desperately he wanted to express and be all that he was--a healer. Rosanna turned and moved herself to wrap her arms around the mech’s neck in an embrace, burying her face in the crook of his neck. It was a forward gesture, but the warmth at her core told her it felt correct. “You’re an amazing person, Glit.” 

His optics opened wide in surprise. He wrapped a forelimb around her. “You too, Rosie-Doll.” His voice was rich with emotion. Glit nuzzled her helm further moving into the hug. “We have to be our best selves going through this, for our own sakes.” He wanted to give her encouragement like she gave to him. Like a dancer holding their partner securely while dipping them backwards, he wanted to support her. 

The two stayed like that for a while, holding onto the other, neither one quite wanting to leave. For once in their lives, and quite likely the first time, they felt truly known. Eventually they had to gather themselves up, leave their well hidden nook, and part ways so Rosanna could get proper recharge for her shift the next morning. They walked closer together along the way, a comfortable warmth radiating between them. 

Before she left down the hall towards her shared quarters, she gently leaned into Glit’s space to give him a small peck on the cheek and wished him goodnight--not eager to part, but eager for the next day when she could see him again. They both caught the other trying to steal a look as they were walking away, only to have to act like they both hadn’t invalidated their goodbyes and ignoring the touch of embarrassment that found them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of an important chapter for these two!
> 
> These are headcanons we've had about Glit and Rosanna's pasts for a while now, in thinking about one of the ways they could have existed/been brought into a functionalist society before the war. We have a lot of liberty with the characters since there isn't a lot of media that feature the two, so we came up with our best interpretation for a good story (we think!) We also wanted it to be known/conveyed that Rosanna could have easily ended up a Decepticon, VERY easily--but the Autobots just got to her first. We only briefly touched on these ideas, so if you have any questions/ thoughts about their origins or would be interested to see their backgrounds explored more in some additional side works, we'd be glad to talk about them in the comments, or via twitter! (@wreckerbooty or @thepumpkinbot)
> 
> I also have a CuriousCat set up now! For people that want to ask questions or make comments, but don't quite want to make themselves known! (trust me, I understand lol) Feel free to ask us whatever you'd like, or drop your comments anonymously there!
> 
> \--> https://curiouscat.qa/ThePumpkinBot <\--
> 
> Next chapter we're back in the present again, and Glit has very much caught the attention of his fans--and realizes that's not always such a good thing. 
> 
> See you next week, folks!


	11. I Don't Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter this week! The song featured is "I Don't Care" by Fallout Boy, and the song that is mentioned (but not written/performed) is "Fresh" by Artist vs. Poet. 
> 
> I do need to note there are some warnings for this chapter, for those that need to be aware!
> 
> There is a scene demonstrating and referring to harassment/verbal sexual harassment that happens in the first part of the chapter, so if you need to avoid that, scroll down past the first divider!

Besides performing in the show, contestants and the musically inclined panelists were expected to participate in various promotional events. There had already been a few backstage meet and greets with fans, photograph sessions to produce billboards and commercial buffers, and for today, they were signing autographs on the albums of the covers performed by the contestants so far. The seating arrangement had been worked out beforehand, but last minute changes--the bane of organization--had thrown out the old seating chart, and a new one was made a few moments before arrival.

Rager somehow had landed between Sundor and Tripper, which was not an ideal situation, as the cow-spotted mech’s side was already dented and his foot stepped on. Windy was on an end seat that allowed, much to her enjoyment, the ability to come around the table to take pictures with people and give hugs. Cusp was lodged between the two flyers and was in perpetual danger of getting clocked by a wing, leaving Jettsetter an anxious mess of apologies. Rosanna, normally seated at the center, now found herself on one of the sides of the long table. To her right was the somewhat standoffish Stella, a contestant she hadn’t had much opportunity to speak with, and to her left was Glam.  
  


Glam smiled shyly at her as he took his seat on the end. It was going to be a long day.  
  


The smaller femme propped her chin atop her folded hands as she looked out at the line of fans waiting to be allowed forward, a cheerful smile on her face. “Well this is going to be fun, I think,” she stated pleasantly, turning her helm slightly to look up at him. Glam gave a nod, steadying himself as he scooched his seat in a tad further. He heard Rosanna make a comment of greeting towards Stella as well, who gave her an affirmative, but dismissive noise of acknowledgement.

He could tell Rosanna was wanting to interact with him, but every glance at her dragged embarrassment out of him and onto his face. Rager’s warning of unavoidable consequences quietly bounced around his processor. The event eventually began and he was thrown into the daze of interaction, mechs and femmes of all frames, sizes, and colors coming up to interact with everyone at the table.

He wasn’t exactly excited to be interacting with the fans, but he hadn’t made this any easier on himself either. His interaction with fans was influenced by the horny, party bot persona he had fostered on stage since day one. Having his dancers handling his frame in mock-intimacy had somehow sent the message he was willing to tolerate that from anyone. While there was some part of him that craved the attention and wanted to be seen as attractive, it all felt incredibly fake. Fans that had come backstage gripped at edges of plating as he allowed hugs, one was even brazen enough to slap his aft. Someone allowed to watch one of the practices had grabbed onto his arm to try and pull him off stage when he went to playfully interact with them while singing. The security team hadn’t done anything about the incidents; one even remarked that he asked for it by doing that lap dance when he performed “Fresh” a couple episodes back.

Glam remembered how he’d been careful to make sure the dancer that sat in the audience would be fine with the interaction. Like Stockade, the mech was professional about it. The “dance” was for such a short bit that some of the other dancers teased he should’ve just used a real audience member. The suggestion of that hadn’t sat right with the singer, who prior to the competition was used to people touching him without regard for his physical autonomy. 

Cycling air, the helicopter mech came out of his thoughts to talk with a very persistent mech that was being loud at his station at the table. Glam had already gone through the motion of signing the booklet page he was featured on, shaking a hand and thanking the fan for coming. Nicer fans--please read as politer--tended to get more time and attention from him. The noisy fan hadn’t let go of his hand. He actually looked up at the loud mech, and it took a moment for his processor to catch up out of his haze from constant interaction. Glam saw the other’s lips moving and heard words that didn’t have a chance to be understood. And then an abnormally long tongue slid out. On either side of the tongue were small nodules that would create additional feeling if they were rubbed against something. It was a type of body modification Glam recognized.

His processor finally registered and spat out the mech’s words for him to take in, and the white and blue mech’s temper flared. His golden optics narrowed, and the fan had the gall to quirk a flirty optical ridge at him with his tongue still out. If he pulled his arm away it would bring the mech and his tongue closer. He didn’t want that, so he had to get the mech to let go. “Nice, good, cool.” His voice was perhaps a bit louder and more clipped than what was socially correct, but this mech obviously wanted the attention and didn’t seem to care about social correctness. “That mod is done in one appointment, and the parts don’t cost much. So you’re quick, and you’re cheap.” Glam’s upper lip curled and displayed his fangs in a snarl, as his free hand grabbed the album booklet and threw it at the fan. “ _ Not _ interested. Fragging leave.”

Rosanna looked over at the commotion, starting and making a noise in disgust at the sight of the mech, his tongue still lolled out of his face as he held onto Glam’s arm.  All the mass of pink and white in Rosanna’s frame was brought forward to lean over the table in a flash, her forearm quickly slamming down on the fan's arm to break their hold on Glam. “EXCUSE ME, back the _FRAG_ off!" Now free, the white and blue singer  pulled away and tripped backward into his chair, staring dumbly at Rosanna. 

“You need to _leave_ ,” she barked at the mech, who was already stepping back in retreat. “Before I call security over here to escort you out. GO.” Rosanna looked up at Glam, resting her hand near him, but almost making a conscious effort not to touch. “Are you okay? Do you need to take a break?” The fan ducked and picked up the booklet before making a quick exit. 

The helicopter mech shook his head. “I’m fine. Takes more than that to get me to leave.” The moment of stillness and silence from Rosanna made him realize he had said something horrible--seeing as he usually evacuated the area when he knew _she_ was going to be around.

The femme smiled briefly, making an affirmative noise. “Alright, then. Just wanting to check. I know how scary and upsetting things like that can be. So please take a moment if you feel you need to, okay? Don't push yourself.” She turned around to immediately distract herself with calling over one of the security mechs to stand a short ways behind them. “Having security within direct line of sight usually helps deter people from doing something stupid, so I hope it helps.”

Glam was still debating if it was a good time to test if his whole fist could fit in his mouth as he rested a knuckle against his lips. After the security mech took his place and the line started moving again, things turned back to whatever the close approximation of normal was. He would glance at Rosanna from time to time, but she either didn’t seem to notice or--after his tragic verbal misstep--had decided it best to avoid communicating with him much. 

As time passed their drinks and snacks at the table ran out. A server slipped up beside Glam and wanted to take his order. While the engex addict in him wanted a carafe of energon wine, he pushed that down, opting instead for something lighter that wouldn’t muddle him. Rosanna’s drink was also empty. He paused, looking at her for a long moment as the pink femme fully emersed herself in the conversation with her fan. Turning back to the server he ordered what she had always used to order, “A strong Ibexan energon tea with extra shavings for Rosanna.” The drink was bitter and energizing and tended to linger in the tank. It was another risk to his identity, but she wasn’t paying attention.   
  


The server eventually returned with both of their drinks, Rosanna doing a double take at the glass that was placed in front of her. She looked up at Glam in a half incredulous, half accusatory glance, and held him in her gaze for a long moment. The femme opted not to say anything as she cautiously grabbed the base of the glass to take a sip from it, the light behind her visor fixated forward at the remainder of the crowd of fans. Only a couple hours of the event remained. 

* * *

It was the night of the next show, and the audience was freshly primed from Jetsetter’s opener with a joyful cover of “What We Live For” by American Authors. The mech’s performances always made Rosanna smile with how earnest and authentically sweet he was. He was a mech full of life and love, and wanted to share that with everyone. It set a good tone for the night, and made her hopeful for the other performances. 

The signing event had been extremely awkward to say the least, and she received another round of mixed messages from Glam about his history with her. She learned a few things that day for certain. One, was that her presence was enough to run him out of a room, but sexual harassment wasn’t. The second, was that she apparently drank casually with him before, or had dinner with him. The drink he ordered was a very specific long time favorite of hers she usually didn’t ask for unless she was out with someone. She typically tried to be considerate to staff and avoided ordering something unnecessarily complicated when at events. It was a robustly bitter drink, and people usually assume her to have a strong preference for all things sweet at all times. It made her rub at her face thinking about it. She wasn’t sure how to proceed exactly in dealing with Glam, other than with the general umbrella idea of  _ carefully _ . 

The announcement was made that the mech in question was up next to perform after the first commercial break. There didn’t appear to be a lot of change in the stage, something that was unusual when it came to Glam’s style. There was usually a massive hussle from the stagehands to get everything prepared, but only a few minor adjustments were being made to the setup. Jazz gently tapped Rosanna on her arm to get her attention, leaning into her space to speak quietly. “Glam was in a terrible mood this week. You lucked out not having to speak with him.” 

Rosanna’s expression took on a concerned edge, remembering what happened at the signing event. “Did everything go okay? Did he snap at you, or something?” Jazz elected himself to be the one to talk to Glam during that week’s backstage interviews, understanding the situation between Rosanna and the contestant was a bit awkward due to their implied shared history. It was a gesture the popstar was grateful for, the weight of having to manage that off of her shoulders.   
  


Glam was in the right to be upset about the harassment he received--and after looking more into the situation, she understood that wasn’t the first and only instance of it. She also learned little had been done to intervene with, punish, or prevent the incidents, which led to having a very heated discussion with security. She tried to make sure Glam wasn’t dragged into the middle of it, not wanting to add more stress for him. 

“Nah, but he’s gonna snap. He was saving it up.” Jazz added a hint of wince into his voice, the mech audibly cringing. 

“Oh dear.” Rosanna lightly placed her fingers over her mouth. “You didn’t hear about what happened with the autograph session, did you?” 

“I think we’re all about to hear about what happened.” The black and white mech already had a sneak peak of the song during his walkabout the practice areas. He nodded towards the stage to redirect Rosanna’s attention.

A band had been brought out to the stage, but no dancers. The stage lighting was dim, but it was nowhere near the dramatic pitch black that normally marked the start and end to Glam’s numbers. The countdown to start began over their comms, and a look of interested confusion crossed Rosanna’s face. This was going to be different, and the audience could sense it, too. When the lights came to full brightness the singer was already on stage at his mark, a few steps back from front and center as the crowd began to scream and cheer for him. There was no dramatic reveal. He was aggressively present.

The music started with a fast paced rhythmic beat, and he prompted the audience to participate by bringing his hands together over his helm to clap in time to the song. He had a mic in hand, but it was being used more as a prop to have something to work with on stage. 

_ Say my name, and his in the same breath, _

_ I dare you to say they taste the same, _

It was an invitation laced with a hint of a sarcastic threat, paired with a flash of his dental plating. He started walking along the front of the stage, using his free hand to narrate and bring more life to the song. Glam was building up the story of the piece, a device more often used by Windy to really drive the connection she wanted the audience to feel with her. There was a genuineness that the mech usually appeared to lack--he was feeling the song, and was throwing his whole being into it. And that feeling was anger and bitterness.

_ Erase myself and let go, _

_ Start it over again in Mexico _

_ These friends, they don't love you _

_ They just love the hotel suites, now _

Rosanna was dragged into the emotion, but felt her tank quietly churn at the too-close-to-life lyrics. She glanced at the rest of the panelists to gauge their reactions. Small lines on Sundor’s face displayed how distinctly uncomfortable he was with the song. She caught his expression, but knew the cameras likely wouldn’t--and there was an unspoken art in keeping that subtlety. While she had been looking at the others, Glam was mid-stride up the incline to the panelist box.

_ I don't care what you think, _

_ As long as it's about me _

_ The best of us can find happiness, in misery _

Glam smoothly took a seat in front of Crosscut on the table, surprising everyone with a start. His leg was kicked up on the tabletop and bent at the knee, his free hand gesturing at the silver mech. He deliberately looked him in the optics, his own half-shuttered in a seductive way as he tilted his helm back to put his vulnerable neck workings briefly on display. 

_ Oh, take a chance, let your body get a tolerance, _

_ I'm not a chance, but a heatwave in your pants _

The former senator leaned far back in his seat, his expression aghast and in shock as he felt overly targeted. Glam pushed off the table with an aggressively cheeky smile, giving a small pass by of the rest of the panelists--distinctly avoiding looking at Rosanna. The white and blue mech took his time returning to the actual stage making sure the panelists, the audience, and the camera drones caught the lines of his frame slowly walking away, with the sway of his rotor blades with each step. He looked leonine and powerful. 

_ Sweat it out, shut your mouth, _

_ Free love on the streets, but _

_ In the alley it ain't that cheap, now! _

Glam touched back onto the main stage, using the lyrics as a toss away note to the rumor Ironsides had started about his supposed real profession. The song came back to reach its main message, and he owned it. He aggressively held the mantra in his hand along with the mic. 

_ I don't care what you think, _

_ As long as it's about me _

The singer gestured with a feisty, flirty beckoning wave at his core. 

_ The best of us can find happiness, in misery _

The live band quieted. The performer danced backwards in a smooth sliding step, most of the movement in his top half with a playful rolling of his shoulders. He was touting a victory over the crowd. He was telling everyone exactly how he felt about the audience, and they were eating it up. They were here for his anger, and in so acknowledging his success. This was for himself, and the fang-graced smirk on his face said that loudly as he began to repeat the chorus in a playfully hushed tone. 

_ Said-a, I don't care just a-what you think, _

_ As long as it's about me, you said-a _

_ I don't care just what you think, _

_ As long as it's about me,  _

Glam moved into easing the audience to the round of lyrics, having them clap and repeat the lyrics back at him. He cued the audience with an upwards thrust of the mic in his fist. 

_ Said, I don't care _

_ (I don't care!) _

There was a joyful glint in his optics as each round got slightly louder.

_ You said I don't care! _

_ (I don't care!) _

__

There was a delighted vindictiveness showing through all the prettiness of his frame and all the charisma he carried with it. It wasn’t enough to sing this to the crowd. It was obvious he wanted them to say it with him, and he increased the repetition as he puppeteered their participation and enthusiasm. 

_ Said I (I ) Don't (Don’t) Care (Care), _

_ I (I ) Don't (Don’t) Care,  _

_ I don't care (I don't care), I said-a, I Don't Care! _

He was practically yelling at the crowd by the end of the rounds with the audience before taking back the chorus for himself. Rosanna was in awe of the raw emotion, feeling she was truly seeing how he felt, how much anger he had directed towards the people in the crowd. It had her oddly excited to see into a window through the walls he typically surrounded himself with, but it also made her feel deeply concerned. For the first time in the competition, she began to wonder if--for his own sake--he might not be suited to win this. 

_ The best of us can find happiness, in misery _

  
  


* * *

  
Glam didn’t vacate the contestants lounge as he usually would have. He felt bolder than usual after that performance, not feeling the need to hide himself away. Stella was being sent home from this week’s elimination. The femme was massively talented, but it had been an off week for the R&B singer. The bitterness at Tripper’s existence was starting to feel palatable in the room. Astreae--her actual name--lacked energy tonight, and it’s been noticeable for the last week she was at the end of her reserves. The competition was a constant pressure, and if the femme was in the industry she would have been able to pace herself differently, and last longer. He felt bad for the femme, but he was still here, and he was still steaming. 

The song had been a good way to vent some of his frustrations. He received mostly positive remarks, even through there was a mix of potential warnings as always. He sat on the couch and in his confidence took up as much of it as he could. Every time they were in the lounge it felt a tad less crowded and intimidating than before. He wasn’t in a mood to be nervous about the contestants, or whatever Primus might have had in store that evening-- 

“Hey, Glam? Do you have a moment?” Rosanna somehow quietly manifested, standing off to the side of the couch. Her helm was tilted with a small smile that he knew to read as anxious, her hands crossed lightly in front of herself. 

Primus called his bluff; there was something he was in fact nervous about. With a sigh, the helicopter build hauled himself up from the couch and set his drink on the table. He wasn’t able to avoid her forever. She hadn’t managed to see through him yet and he felt she likely wasn’t going to at this rate. “Yeah. You need me?” 

“I was hoping we might be able to step out and talk for a moment,” Rosanna turned her helm and moved one of her hands to lightly gesture at one of the room’s exits. “For a bit of privacy, if that would be okay?”

Glam rubbed at the back of his neck. She wasn’t comfortable around him. It hurt his spark a bit knowing that his avoidance, missteps and stupidity had been the cause of that. “Yeah, that’s fine.” His voice had a small bit of rasp from earlier yelling. “Lead the way.” He gestured to the exit she had. 

“Sure!” Her smile brightened and she nodded her helm, but the nervous rigidity didn’t quite leave her. She turned to head for one of the exits, stepping out into the hall. She walked a short ways away from the lounge before she stopped to turn to look up at him, her visor bright. There was a brief pause from her before she spoke, her gathering her hands in front of herself in an almost pleading gesture.

“Glam, I… I know things have been really rough as of late. You’re upset, and for completely understandable reasons. I’m mainly just wanting to make sure you’re okay. You were really angry out there tonight.” 

His optics had been cast low to avoid appearing confrontational. He let out a clipped sigh at Rosanna’s appraisal of him before speaking. “I’ll get over it. I’ve handled worse.” He glanced upward at her from a spot on the floor next to one of her pedes. His voice was kept deliberately soft. She was trying to be sweet, and he didn’t want to stress her any further. 

“It’s okay to be upset about how fans are behaving, it’s uncomfortable, and it’s hurtful. It hurts to have people make assumptions about you, believe me, I understand. I just… “ She trailed off for a moment of pause. “I just don’t want it to cause you to lose sight of what brought you here in the first place, or cause you to lose the love of performing that I know you have.”

Glam shuttered his optics for a moment as a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at her encouragement. It felt like she hadn’t really changed. In the end, if he really thought about it, she was the reason he was here. Whether it had been using her goodbye as a crutch to keep moving, or a salve on a burn to make it through the war, or if it was a last chance effort to try and not let go of the promise he’d made her, she was the reason he was  _ here _ . He met her optics for a long moment and had to swallow down emotion. “Thank you.” Any heat from the night he still had drained away at the intensity of his lingering feelings. “I’ll just have to make it through this.” 

The rigidity in Rosanna’s frame also seemed to melt away, visible relief and softness entering her features. Her smile brightened up at him, meeting his gaze evenly as she playfully tilted her helm. “Well I hope it’s a bit more than just making it through,” she chuckled lightly before she shuttered her optics and ducked her head to momentarily look away. Her smile entered her voice as she gave a gentle, lighthearted flick with the back of her hand to Glam’s arm. “Don’t forget to have some fun while you’re here, too, okay?” 

He chuckled lightly as he playfully rubbed the spot she flicked on his arm. “I’ll try. We’ll see about next week.” Glam tried to keep the creep of sadness at bay. Something irrational had wished she recognized him in some way, that he was still himself enough to be recognized, that she had even cared enough to remember him at all. He lowered his optics again. 

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” she replied. He thought he could pick up on a hint of sadness in her voice as well, but his confidence in knowing her felt a bit shaken. “Alright, I won’t pester you anymore… for now.” It was a teasingly playful note to mask her voice. “Have a good rest of the night, Glam.” The femme gave him a light wave before turning to leave, which Glam returned almost shallowly. He watched her go before turning to duck back into the contestants lounge; a smaller mech than before with the mantle of his anger shed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending this chapter on a soft interaction between Glam and Rosanna. The poor boy is an emotional disaster, but we still love him! 
> 
> Next week Rosie goes behind the scenes again to talk with everyone about their upcoming performances--and Glam doesn't run away this time! Good for him!
> 
> As always, thanks for staying with us. Stay safe, and see you next week!


	12. The Greatest Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song featured in this chapter is "The Greatest Show" from The Greatest Showman. We specifically referenced the cover done by Panic at the Disco, of course. There's a bit more length and visual descriptors for this one, since I'm potentially practicing an animatic to go with the scene. We'll see what happens with that though, I make no promises, haha! 
> 
> This was one of our favorite scenes to write, largely in part because of the direct interaction between Glam and Rosanna... and the imagery for the song was also just really a treat to picture. Have fun, everyone!

“Hey everyone! I’m back at the studio lot today to get some sneak peaks with everyone again! We’re down to our last five contestants, so the competition’s really heating up and everyone’s hard at work prepping their performances for the next show. I’m hoping they might be able to share a little time to have some fun and give a little taste of what they’re working on!”

It was Rosanna’s day off, and she decided once again--to Roughstuff’s annoyance--to spend a portion of it getting more footage for her vlog and interacting with the crew and contestants. A lot of her life right now revolved around what was happening at the studio, and too much of it had her existing in a professional state. Even though she still had to maintain a semblance of professional distance while she was on campus and doing these videos, she wasn’t having to appease someone else’s direction. Even if just marginally, she was able to be more herself.

“After next week, I’m supposed to be doing more in-depth interviews with the remaining five, which I’m really looking forward to. It breaks my spark each time I have to say goodbye to someone on the show. As soon as we get to know who they really are, they have to leave, hopefully to continue to foster their music.” She continued to talk to the drone as she walked through the studio towards the workrooms, as if confiding in a close friend. Creating segments of videos like this was a habit she picked up during the war. It was a personal diary of sorts she could share with others. “Everyone here has something really special, and I hope they all know that too. I think it’s another reason why I like doing this, since it gives kind of a more genuine glimpse into how everyone is when they’re not on stage and performing for everyone, you know?” 

The first workroom she happened upon was Rager’s, who was working on choreography with a line of femmes and similarly built mechs, all done up in designs with what appeared to be specialty blacklight paint. Rosanna was about to enter through the doorway to greet her before she remembered the femme previously snitched to Glam about her being on set during her last vlogging visit. Wanting to avoid making the same mistake twice, Rosanna pivoted on her heel to head back into the hall. “We’ll come back later,” she whispered to the drone, continuing on down the hallway.

Rosanna really wanted to try to improve her situation with Glam, and to check in on him again after everything that happened last week. After their last interaction, the femme had a little bit of hope that he might be more willing to tolerate her presence. She very much wanted to get to know him more, and really hoped that his time here on the competition wasn’t something horrendously stressful--and that she wouldn’t be a source of that distress.

She also wanted to get more glimpses of how they might know each other. There was no denying that they shared a past in some manner. There also wasn’t really a doubt he had feelings for her in some way. The femme had a suspicion of his identity that gnawed at the back of her processors like a ravenous scraplet she was constantly trying to shoo off. Rosanna couldn’t deny that a large part of her eagerness now was either wanting to encourage or disprove her theory. She was stuck in a battle with herself about wanting to see or ignore just how many parallels she could draw between Glam to the mech that went missing from her life so long ago. 

“I was told Glam was going to be in the large workroom this week.” Rosanna turned to look into the camera, her voice hushed in excitement. “He’s also going to be the opener, so I have a feeling this is going to be something BIG.” She heard the commotion in the mech’s work area before she ever saw it. Rosanna walked through the doorway and was greeted with a massive bustle of dancers and stage hands, various mechanisms being built and tested. There were mechs and femmes of nearly all builds and sizes that were either practicing or waiting to be given direction. Rosanna walked into the organized chaos, turning round with her drone in tow, a wide smile on her face. 

She grabbed the drone to directly aim its lens at her face again. A rising platform behind her was in the shot, someone gleefully standing on it as it started its slow ascent into the rafters. “I have  _ no _ idea what’s going on, but I’m EXCITED.” As she said that the mech--now offscreen and very high up in the room, let out a loud and delighted  _ WHOOP! _ as he jumped and landed on a super-cushioned fall pad.

“Rosieee-ANNA!” Glam’s voice called above the crowd. Rosanna’s helm whirled around, it taking a moment with the circus of commotion for the white and blue mech to emerge, a harassed procurement mech following behind. Rosanna’s optics widened in surprise, taking note that he narrowly avoided calling her by her nickname. 

“Glam, hi!” Rosanna greeted, her smile bright. “You have a  _ lot _ going on today, wow!” 

The helicopter mech smiled at her as he came to a stop. “Yeah, I’m still trying to get all the moving parts together, and I think I have something I could use some help on.” 

“ _Don’t_ humor him!” The mech that had been chasing after called out before Rosanna had a chance to respond. “I keep telling him we can just animate in some fauna but  _ no _ , that’s not good enough.” The crew member grumbled as he finally caught up to Glam. “Good afternoon, Rosanna.” 

“Good afternoon,” Rosanna greeted in hesitancy, getting the distinct feeling she was being drawn into an argument. “So Glam, you’re wanting to bring animals onto the set?” She gestured to the already chaotic area with a motion of her hand, mild confusion and interest brightly coloring her voice. 

There was a dangerous toothiness in his smile and he gave a very small shake of his helm. “I was trying to see if I could get some  _ dancers  _ with beast-alts.” 

Rosanna stilled for a moment, refreshing her optics to make sure she was understanding the situation correctly. Without changing her expression, she raised her hand to turn off the recording function of the drone, turning her helm to directly meet the gaze of the procurement mech. “Did you just equate beast-alt mechs with Cybertronian fauna? Did I hear you correctly, just now?” Her voice was forcibly light and sweet, but the threat in the tone was cutting.

The procurement mech put a hand on his hip. “He was just wanting them as flavor anyway. There aren't any beastformer dancers to be had. No one asks for them. There isn’t a demand. We can just animate some in.” He didn’t seem put off by Rosanna’s attention. He had worked this job long enough to know what could and couldn’t be gotten. 

Glam crossed his arms and a smirk crept up to his optics behind his visor; clearly he was pleased to see the mech dig deeper. “I wanted the diversity.”   
  


Rosanna’s smile grew a little more, and her optics narrowed around the edges. Without giving away that she was doing so, she sent a message to get the production manager to come over to their location. She folded her arms lightly across her chassis, lightly propping the back of a hand under her chin. “You do know there are beast-alt mechs within this competition, correct? And--just perhaps--one of the panelists, even? In case you forgot about Sundor?”   
  


“Sundor doesn’t have a beast-alt anymore. Nor does anyone in the competition.” The mech countered. “We are on day two of production. We don’t have time for this.” He was attempting to give a valid reason for his resistance to the request.

“I made the request for all the dancers at the same time. You just chose to ignore that part of the request.” Glam interjected. He didn’t like the suggestion that he hadn’t been forthcoming with what he needed for the number and was being a put-upon diva. 

Rosanna raised her hand in a halting motion at the procurement mech. “You know what, you just don’t worry about this anymore, I’ll make sure we get the dancers for the performance.” Her tone was dangerously soft. “Not like this is your job or anything and you’re exhibiting extremely gross and unfounded bias towards an entire group of people and--oh look! Your boss is here!” Rosanna’s smile beamed as she turned to gesture at the production manager, beckoning him over in a sweetly excited fashion.

Glam waited quietly, and kept pushing down a smirk. His optics were turned downward to the floor, but as the manager came over he raised them slightly, causing his brow to furrow. There wasn’t a long discussion before the manager and procurement mech left to apparently talk further in private, Rosanna waving delicately as they went. The white and blue mech rubbed his arm and tapped the toe of a foot on the floor as he thought. “Thanks, we’d already been at it a while.” 

“I figured as much,” Rosanna replied with a sigh, her expression softening in an apologetic way as she turned her attention fully to Glam. “I’m sorry he was being such an aft. It really burns me up when people are like that.  _ ‘There aren’t any beast-alt dancers’,  _ for Primus’ sake.” She took a moment of pause to cycle air, letting the heat flow outwards from her frame. She was here to have fun, and she wasn’t going to be a downer for Glam, either. He was already stressed by the situation. 

Rosanna moved to shift her demeanor, unfolding her arms and loudly clasping her hands together. “Anyway, it’s completely his loss. Now  _ I _ get to go scout some talent.” She winked at Glam, her smile playful before adjusting her stance, getting ready to talk shop with the helicopter build. The femme was eager to help in what ways she could and eager to keep up this positive interaction between them. Rosanna was extremely surprised Glam had come up to her at all. It also struck her as both odd and interesting that he seemed confident in how she’d handle the situation. It would give her something to think about more at a later time. “I know you have a lot going on here with this performance--could you fill me in on what you’re looking for in terms of skill level? Or some more inside scoop on what you have planned? I’m dying to know!”   
  


Glam’s posture loosened as well. “I don’t wanna give too much away.” He uncrossed his arms, and his expression softened. “I just need about three to five beastformers and we can work them in depending on their skill level. There is a lot going on.” The mech was still testing out the stage mechanisms and the singer’s gold optics flicked in the direction of the crash pad. “Ah, just not aquatic alts, might not work, really...” He gave a small chuckle.  
  


Rosanna giggled lightly with a warm smirk, “What, not planning on having any pools built?” 

“Wasn’t planning on it. Guess Sky-byte would be fine since he’s a flying shark.” Glam mused as if he was actually thinking about the possibility.

“Something tells me that this wouldn’t  _ exactly _ be Sky-byte’s thing. But, what are choreographers for if not figuring out how to incorporate a flying shark into a routine, right?” Rosanna flirtatiously quirked one of her hips, flippantly gesturing with one of her hands at the idea. 

“Already pissed off a procurement mech, might as well start on the choreographers.” The mech said in jest with a small shrug.

Rosanna laughed brightly at that. “Okay, okay. But really though, finding some people for your routine shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll make some calls and get a job listing out, and I’ll let you know when we get some applicants.” She turned her helm to the freshly remembered recording drone with a subtle pout, having forgotten she had switched it off during the earlier confrontation. 

Glam’s attention went to the drone. He tilted his head slightly then a look crossed his face as he realized she was probably upset over the lack of footage. “Thanks, I - uh, I should probably get back to practice. We have a lot to hammer out still.” He started taking a couple sly steps backward. 

“Ah, yeah I know, but--” Rosanna interjected, lightly reaching a hand out. She looked sheepish, a warmth creeping into her cheeks. “Would you mind taking a picture with me before you get back to it? And then I’ll stop bothering you, promise.” 

He stopped his retreat. Her sheepishness must have been a contagious variety. Giving a nod, he quietly went down on a knee and beckoned her closer to him. There was practically a nervous hum buzzing around him. Rosanna felt a smidge guilty at his obvious anxiousness, but gave a warm smile in return as she came over to him, her drone quietly bobbing behind. She stopped next to him and leaned in just enough so their faces would easily be in the same shot.

She raised a finger, adjusting the drone’s position while tapping into the visual feed to get the angle she was hoping for. Glam looked so nervous, and her guilt rose. She wanted to say something to help break the tension about him, and help him feel more comfortable about the situation. At that thought, she saw the mech testing the rising platform in the background about to make another jump, and she timed the lineup just right to capture the moment. 

“Okay, now everyone say  _ WHOO! _ ” She timed it well and snapped the picture, capturing the moment of Glam laughing as the mech behind them let out his joyful whoop as he plunged to the fall mat again. Rosanna smiled gleefully before turning around and taking a step back to look at the helicopter mech, feeling very aware this was the first time she’d been this close to him during the competition. He was extremely cute. The frame he helped design was strikingly handsome, but the thing that caught her attention the most was the achingly familiar look of his gold optics. She chuckled lightly, shaking away the thought to avoid staring too long. “Thanks for humoring me, Glam.” She took another step backwards, cutely gesturing with the start of her departure. “Now you have a lot of work to do. Good luck with the rest of the day! And like I said, I’ll let you know when I hear back about those dancers for you.” 

“Places to go, people to see?” Glam quipped at her as he stood up again. His voice seemed to gain a tad bit of confidence now that Rosanna was the one backing away. 

She toothily smirked with a playful shrug of her shoulders and a quirk of her helm, continuing to step backward toward the door. “Well,  _ you know me _ .” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. 

A small jolt of nervousness got Glam moving again. “Welp, gotta get going.” He moved with a tad more urgency toward the main group of dancers, his rotors swaying behind him.

Knowing she had just spooked him again, she didn’t have a choice but to try to bring humor back into it, playfully calling out as he made his exit. “At least you’re consistent!” 

* * *

  
The crew had the longest to set up for Glam’s performance since he was the opener. It wasn’t really surprising that they needed as much time as they could possibly get. Due to everything that was required for the number, it was impossible to have the stage perfectly clear as it usually was for Rocksteady’s introduction of the episode. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the audience, and there was a palatable thrum of excitement. The host wasn’t going to be coming out to introduce the opening number at all, in fact. In proper Glam fashion, the production managers made the decision that this was going to be a cold opening. With a song called “The Greatest Show”, the performance created by Glam and the crew was enough of an introduction for the evening.

Once everyone was in position on the darkened stage, the music started as a garbled, winding, tinny crescendo. A light toward the back of the stage snapped on, turning Glam into a silhouette.

_ Ladies and gents, this is the moment you've waited for _

His voice was tinged in hushed enthusiasm and a curl of deviousness. The light behind him swelled and dimmed between lines, allowing him to take on a different pose each time he was illuminated.

_ You've been searchin' in the dark, your sweat soakin' through the floor _

Each of the three poses displayed his frame and played with the audience’s love of it, grabbing their attention and making sure they knew where to look.

_ And buried in your bones there's an ache that you can't ignore. _

_ Takin' your breath, stealin' your mind, _

_ And all that was real is left behind. _

Stage lighting swelled to nearly its brightest, dancers starting to fall in around Glam as he led a march toward the front of the stage. Different mechs smoothly transformed and tumbled into the marching line, the sheer amount of diversity on stage being difficult for viewers to ignore. There were mechs, femmes and those that chose not to identify; there were planes, beastformers, hovercraft, construction mechs, car and motorcycle builds--all together on stage in synchronized, but individual lines of motion. 

_ Don't fight it, it's comin' for you, runnin' at ya _

_ It's only this moment, don't care what comes after _

_ Your fever dream, can't you see it gettin' closer? _

_ Just surrender 'cause you feel the feelin' takin' over _

Glam came to stand at the front of the stage addressing the crowd with the lyrics. His arms were held low and open, his palms forward with his intent on selling his role in the number. He was here delivering the message that there should be nothing stopping anyone from being who they wanted to be, and that dreams were achievable. He had to grab them and hold them all to the future that was promised. 

_ It's fire, it's freedom, it's floodin' open _

_ It's a preacher in the pulpit and your blind devotion _

_ There's somethin' breakin' at the brick of every wall _

The movement around him slowly blossomed into more agitated and chaotic motion, and he threw his arms out wide to his sides. 

_ It's holdin' all that you know, so tell me do you wanna go? _

The stage lighting switched from warm white to a cacophony of colors. It was hard to see, but two familiar shapes slipped into the mix of dancers and acrobats. 

_ Where it's covered in all the colored lights _

_ Where the runaways are runnin' the night _

_ Impossible comes true, it's takin' over you _

The hot pink, liquid form of Windy and the maroon and teal form of Jetsetter slipped into the noise of the performance. They subtly became the leaders of the groups of dancers they joined.

_ Oh, this is the greatest show! _

_ We light it up, we won't come down _

_ And the sun can't stop us now _

_ Watchin' it come true, it's takin' over you _

_ Oh, this is the greatest show! _

Glam had to make his way to a specific mark on the stage, but it was clearly done with the intent of being seen. He wanted the crowd to get excited as the platform started to raise and turn. The singer deliberately prowled against the rotating movement of the platform to keep facing the crowd, his torso and arms joining in the walk as he rose above the sea of stunts beneath him.  
  


_ Colossal we come these renegades in the ring _

_ Where the lost get found and we crown ‘em the circus kings _

The helicopter mech mimed placing a crown on top of his helm. It was as though he was the lost, the found--and now above his subjects, he would be placed as their leader. It was a tad egotistical, but he believed he had the charm to carry it.

_ Don't fight it, it's comin' for you, runnin' at ya _

_ It's only this moment, don't care what comes after _

_ It's blindin', outshinin' anything that you know _

_ Just surrender 'cause you're callin' and you wanna go _

The pace of the song was building again, and when it and the platform reached its zenith, Glam turned his back to the audience, and once more threw his arms out as he let himself fall backward off the edge of the disk. He only had a moment of fall before he turned midair to right himself. The stabilizer jets in his feet kicked on to slow his descent, but only enough to make his return to stage smooth. He hadn’t missed a moment singing. He didn’t falter, which indicated either a natural comfort and trust in the motion or practice that couldn’t have been achieved in a week. 

_ Where it's covered in all the colored lights _

_ Where the runaways are runnin' the night _

_ Impossible comes true, intoxicatin' you _

_ Oh, this is the greatest show! _

_ We light it up, we won't come down _

_ And the sun can't stop us now _

_ Watchin' it come true, it's takin' over you _

_ Oh, this is the greatest show! _

The dancers spread out evenly covering the stage and, matching the step of the song, they fell into a drill team inspired dance. Glam was still front and center, framed by a pair of the beastformers that Rosanna was able to find for him. He looked pleased with himself, and as he sang his smile was infectious to the dancers around him. Jetsetter and Windy, during the final formation, had come to the front and were clearly visible as being a part of Glam’s opener. 

_ Where it's covered in all the colored lights _

_ Where the runaways are runnin' the night _

_ Impossible comes true, it's takin' over you _

_ Oh, this is the greatest show! _

_ We light it up, we won't come down _

**_And the walls can't stop us now!_ **

Windy stepped forward to take her line in the song. It didn’t appear to bother her that she was helping another contestant’s performance. She was just happy to be there and happy to help where she could. 

_ I'm watchin' it come true, it's takin' over you _

_ Oh, this is the greatest show! _

  
The song ended with all the dancers bowing out in lines, some of the more acrobatically inclined doing stunts as they exited the stage. The last to bow out were the beastformers, Glam wanting to make sure they got the acknowledgement. They were dancers. They had been asked for. They belonged on the stage as much as any of the other dancers. The helicopter mech gave quick one armed hugs to both his fellow contestants, and even with his mic temporarily silenced, it was obvious he thanked the two before turning his attention back to the crowd and more importantly the panelists--all of which were still in an uproar of applause.   
  


“Holy conduit-cow, folks, wow! WOW” The host of the show finally made his appearance, crossing the stage to stand next to Glam as the crowd continued their enthusiastic cheers. “And--this is going to be obvious here--that was Glam performing “The Greatest Show”, with I think guest appearances from Windy and Jetsetter! What a way to start off the night, I’m still trying to catch my breath here, and I didn’t even do anything!” The host clasped a hand to the back of the helicopter’s shoulder.  
  


Glam looked up at the panelist box to see all four of them on their feet, Rosanna standing up on her chair and raising her hands to try to get her voice heard above the rest of the noise. He raised a hand in a wave to the crowd and shuffled his feet cutely. It was a lot. It was done for the moment though, and he’d be able to flop on one of the couches in the contestants lounge soon enough.   
  


The host started trying to corral the attention. “So, do our panelists have anything to say?”   
  


Jazz was smiling and wrapped up his clapping. He wet his lips slightly before speaking. “While I wish we’d get the opportunity to really just hear you focus all of that energy of yours on your vocals, you don’t disappoint. I’ve seen a lot of slag, and you kept your composure while falling backward from a good little height there. It was impressive, you're here to put on a show. You want to be the full package. You have excitement, mystery, charm, and probably more than one of the dancers thinking about asking for your comm number, which I don’t blame them.”   
  


“Oh? You thinking about it yourself?” The gold and orange colored panelist leaned back in order to reach behind Rosana to playfully rib at Jazz. The question caused a chuckle throughout the audience. Sundor took over the commentary and moved back to talk in the direction of the stage. “I’ve done elaborate openers, and I’ll let everyone in on something; they are my least favorite to do. They are stressful. They take a lot of energy and practice to look any good. You did a good job and you looked like you actually enjoyed it. More power to you. Go get a drink.”   
  


Crosscut waited his turn. The panelist’s appraisal went mostly into the theatrics of the performance, and making good use of the people and resources provided to him. There was one idea however, that the former-senator appeared to be chewing on. “It was a gutsy move to share the spotlight with your competitors, you know. In doing so, you gave up some of your own. You didn’t have to let them have it.”  
  


“You can look at it that way, or look at it like they were his background dancers.” Jazz sat down and pulled his seat more under him as he did. He shot the silver mech a sideways glance.  
  


Rosanna, completely distracted with her own reaction, looked like she was trying to assemble words. Her mouth opened and closed before she resorted to letting out a delighted exclamation of noise in place of anything intelligible. “Glam, that was INCREDIBLE!” She leaned forward in her seat, gesturing with her hands. “I remember you and everyone working on this backstage, and I’m just so happy it turned out like this, I knew it was going to be a HUGE undertaking to pull all of it off. Everyone did an amazing job, and it was so great to see that diversity on stage--thank you so much for giving us that, and for reminding us of a few very important messages about what this show is supposed to be, and what it’s supposed to represent.” She learned forward more, casting a particularly warm and partially sly expression down at him. “So I do have to ask--did you have fun tonight?”   
  


Glam’s smile lost some of its tiredness and turned into something a bit more genuine. It was more him directly speaking with Rosanna than to everyone present. “I did. Looking forward to something maybe a little  _ less _ , next week. I don’t regret this though. It was chaos, but it was fun to have everyone.”   
  


Rosanna’s smile brightened. “I’m really happy to hear it.”  
  


“And I think that’s going to wrap things up for Glam! Everybody give it up one more time before he passes out here.” Rocksteady cued the crowd to applaud once more before raising an arm to give the singer his exit.   
  


Glam nodded and gave another wave to the audience. He needed to clear the stage so they could get the next performance going. “Everybody have a goodnight!” He signed off before trotting to one of the side stage exits, following the retreat of his earlier dancers.   
  


The backstage area was still loaded with dancers and acrobats, some of them milling around in groups and a hired medic was sitting with a couple of mechs making adjustments. The sight caused the singer to slow his gait from a trot to a slow walk as he made his way back to the lounge.  
  


He missed doctoring. He missed the rewarding feeling that came from making something whole and right again--the feeling that came from the last click of a socket wrench having gotten something tight. The feeling that came from the snap of a belt sliding off a digit and onto the groove of the pulley where it belonged. The success that was fitting the last piece of plating back into place after a repair. He flexed his hands with the memory of it all.  
  


He didn’t really want to admit how long it had been since he’d been actually able to feel that. His life had been in disarray for some time prior to the competition. He worked at a hospital. It was a good hospital. People were shipped in from all over Cybertron for procedures. For a short time, he worked as an ER doctor due to his skill in trauma--that was before he’d been demoted out of doing any actual surgeries or vital repairs. Patients had still occasionally refused to be treated by a handless medic. His war-time drinking hadn’t really stopped, and neither had his “war-time problem solving”. No one ever died on his table, which couldn’t have been said for the others he worked with at the time--but rules were rules, as he’d been told his entire life.  
  


Glam wished he hadn’t been surprised when none of his colleagues, majoritively former Autobot medics, had said anything to defend him or his skill. In the end, the work he was mostly relegated to was fabricating parts in the down hours to be installed by other medics during normal working hours. There was a hollow feeling of telling himself that it was important work that someone had to do. Everything had worn on him though, and his engex-dependency had gotten the better of him. He lost his job after one too many failures to show up for his shift.  
  


Back in the present, Glam still had to interact with people as they came up to him, patted him on the shoulder, or greeted him. He still was thinking about the life waiting for him when the competition was done. It only served to make him more tired. He made it to the contestants lounge and hung around the entrance, his shoulder resting against the open door frame. Rager was out practicing, and Cusp was currently out on the stage. Windy and Jetsetter must have still been out mingling. Tripper was the only one present in all his cow-spotted glory. Glam must have had a look about him, because when the other mech saw him, Tripper did the possibly nicest thing he had all competition.   
  


“This is my last week. So y’all get a pass tonight.” His fake accent was thick, but it was meant to tell Glam he was free to leave, in Tripper’s own way.   
  


With that, the blue and white helicopter mech pushed off the doorway. He didn’t have to be there anymore. The end of the evening was his recharge berth, and his feet grew heavier with each step. Feeling this low after being so energized and motivated earlier only made the difference more stark. He was a step closer to the solace of the room he shared with Rager, and at that moment he had to admit he was also a step closer to that feeling of fulfillment he’d get by completing his first repair in a clinic that he fully owned, bought with his winnings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a natural chemistry that happens when we write Glit and Rosanna actually getting the chance to interact with each other--at least, we think so! We hope you guys feel that's the case as well <3
> 
> Next chapter, everyone goes out for karaoke for some fun! And we definitely trust Glam not to make a fool of himself, right? 
> 
> Right? 
> 
> See you next week!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karaoke time! 
> 
> Before we go into it though, a warning for those who want to avoid reading things featuring alcohol use, reference to addiction, and drunkenness. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

Glam was the first to speak. “I probably shouldn’t go.” He sounded hesitant, but all he could think of was the potential stress he could cause himself and everyone around him. “There is going to be drinking, and I shouldn’t.” He sounded a little more confident in his reason. His hesitancy _definitely_ wasn’t due to Rosanna’s guaranteed presence. He promised himself it wasn’t his irrational fear of being found out.  
  


“Or--hear me out--you _should_ go, and I’ll look out for you.” Rager was sitting on her berth with her back against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her. “It’ll be fun. And you’ll get to see _her_ more.” There was the curl of teasing lacing her tone.  
  


The helicopter mech and Rager were winding down for the evening in their dorm room when the invitation from Rosanna came through. The energetic femme was wanting to take the remaining contestants out to a nearby karaoke bar for a night of fun later that week; her excitement was obvious for the opportunity to interact with them all outside of a workplace setting. Cusp had been the first to respond with a polite, but curt declination. Windy accepted with an enthusiastic **_yes_ ** done in bold, italic and animated with confetti. Jetsetter politely replied with a smiley face and thumbs up emoticon--leaving Rager and Glam staring at each other across their shared room in their moment of decision.   
  


“I don’t want to be the killjoy not drinking. Just to let you know, this frame--” he gestured at his core, “--this frame has _two_ FIM chips. They were serious about me not getting drunk, or at least not enjoying it if I do.”  
  


Rager rolled her optics and her torso to reach for her mug that had a beverage in it. She carefully shifted back into her seat and took a drink. “I said I’d look out for you. Even with double FIM chips, you can still have a couple drinks. You need to be bigger than your demons, Loverboy.”  
  


A heavy sigh was pushed out of his chest. It was easy for her to say to “be bigger than a problem” that had stalked him since the beginning of the war and dragged him from about halfway through it. Exasperation tinged his voice, “Rager, it’s not your job to look after me.” Glam looked over at the femme. His look was a mix of ‘please be reasonable’ and knowing he wouldn’t hold up if pushed. This was part of what he wanted to avoid. He didn’t want to ruin someone else’s evening by giving them a task to worry about.  
  


A slow laugh burbled up and out of the larger femme, making her shoulders shake. Her mouth slanted in a smile and, while quirking an optical ridge, she held up her mug so the text was visible. 

_WORLD’S_

_BEST_

_BODYGUARD_

“Don’t make me tap the mug.” 

* * *

  
A sense of dread loomed. Although Rager offered him assurance and had thus far been stuck to his side, the feeling of impending unease was still there. Engex was poured and Rager dutifully retrieved some normal energon to accompany it for them. Glam took the energon first and quietly selected items that were set out on the table to graze on. As everyone was seated and Jetsetter helped pass out fuel, there was a small inkling that maybe things would actually be okay.  
  


“Alright! Now that we’re all settled, everyone pick a number!” Rosanna held out a pink box to the group as they were all gathered around the table, her optics and voice bright as Glam honed in on the object. The chips in the box clattered intimidatingly as she gave it a light shake. A white heart motif was on the center of each side of the box. The item sat nestled in its lid. There was barely any wear on the edges and only a few noticeable defects in the gloss of the top coat. His attention focused on details of the box until Rosanna’s hand interrupted his focus and pulled out a chip. He hadn’t even realized she had continued speaking. Glam swallowed as he looked at her face again.  
  


“So how it works, is everyone will pick a number. One will choose the song for two, two will choose for three, and so on. Five will pick the song for one. So whoever gets one goes last, and whoever gets two goes first!” She held onto the chip she drew and gave the box a bouncing, good shake. “I thought this would be a good idea so we don’t have to worry about picking something for ourselves. If we don’t do so well then it’s the _song’s_ fault, not ours--and whoever made us sing it of course.”  
  


“Sounds good to me!” Windy was the first to respond, already reaching into the box to take her chip. Everyone could tell the racer was still striving to make a good impression.  
  


“I think it could be fun,” Jetsetter smiled, holding the box as it was passed to him. He playfully rummaged around before taking a number. Looking between the two left, he handed it off to Glam who had given a shallow, beckoning motion to the flyer.  
  


With only two chips left Glam took the first his fingers touched and handed the box to Rager, who nonchalantly took the last number, “Five. What does everyone else have?” She displayed the chip to show her assigned placement, leaning forward to slide the box onto the table.  
  


The room Rosanna had rented out for the evening was nice and private, with a singular large U-shaped couch wrapping around a table that faced a small stage. Jetsetter sat in the middle, Rager and Windy both opted to occupy the corners of the arrangement, and Glam ended up on the opposite end across from Rosanna. It was hard for him to avoid looking at her, but that was just how the seating ended up.  
  


“I got four!” Rosanna replied, holding up her chip number.  
  


Windy beamed next to her. “That means I get to pick for you,” she chimed in as she playfully winked. “I’ll be nice! Not everyday you get a private concert from Rosanna!” Rager rolled her optics, picking up on the obvious hero worship happening and reached for her drink.  
  


Glam opened his hand and looked at the six-sided metal chit sitting on his palm. “One.”  
  


Jetsetter looked at the helicopter build and playfully held up his hands in mock-prayer, “Please be kind.” He then held up his ‘2’ for Glam to see, the mech smiling but still clearly nervous despite his playful optimism.  
  


“Oh, I think I have an idea.” Glam grabbed his glass of engex and downed it, Rager’s optics going wide as he placed the empty glass back down on the table. It was his first drink of the evening--of the whole competition. He wasn’t wanting to think about the long stints of sitting across from Rosanna and having nothing to do. He wanted to talk, and laugh with her instead of pretending he was a stranger. “Why be awkward alone when we can be awkward together? C’mon.” He jokingly winked and waved at Jetsetter to follow him.

The teal flyer carefully edged around the table with a scattering of apologies to follow after Glam as he went up to the machine to select a song, the mech already flipping through the archive of what the bar had available. As with the competition, Earth music had become at least somewhat available to the general populace. It was part of a larger cultural exchange that was at least partially fueled by the large bank of media Earth had to offer and how ravenous Cybertron was for distraction from the loss of its own art caused by millions of years of war. 

“You know this one?” Glam asked, tapping the screen.  
  


“Uh, yeah. It’s that one artist you like getting music from a lot,” Jetsetter replied lightly, rubbing the back of his helm with a small smile. “I kinda looked up a bunch of artists everyone was pulling from. Just to see what everyone was doing. That’s actually one of my favorite’s from that guy.”   
  


“Alright, then.” The helicopter selected it and led the way onto the single-step platform that served as a stage, ushering Jetsetter to stand next to him. The music started to play, and the nervousness slowly crept out of the younger flyer’s frame as they began actually singing the lines of the duet. Titled “C’mon”, it was a sweet song about comradery, belonging, and encouragement in the face of hardship.  
  


Glam liked Jetsetter. The two had gotten to know each other a little while learning the choreography for “The Greatest Show”, in which Glam picked up a few things about the mech’s personality. He was a genuinely kind and compassionate person, and obviously talented. He was also notably young.  
  


If Glam were to hazard a guess about Jetsetter’s identity, he would assume the mech was an MTO. It led Glam to be more gentle towards him, knowing the majority of the kid’s life had likely been war, destruction, and trauma. Even after all that, Jetsetter was still a loving person who most of all wanted to be loved. It rankled something in Glam’s core to know that many people like Jetsetter were brought online only to meet their ends moments later in the grind of unnamed, unimportant, and most of all unnecessary battles in a mostly unnecessary conflict. The anger helped carry him through the duet.  
  


Glam looked over at Jetsetter, seeing the mech was clearly enjoying himself. His smile was bright and his optics drawn up in genuine happiness as he carried the longer notes of the song. Glam’s temper slowly drained from his core in the presence of Jetsetter’s joy. He was glad the young mech was here and glad to be able to share this moment with him. The song ended and he pulled the other singer into a one armed hug and the jet’s smile grew even bigger.  
  


The audience of three enthusiastically applauded after the song as they stepped down. “ _Guys_ , that was so sweet!” Rosanna called out. The song wasn’t exactly a super fun one to start on, but that was probably a reflection of Glam’s musical taste than that of Jetsetter’s willingness to perform a happier melody. Jetsetter stayed up near the terminal as the helicopter flopped back over the arm of the couch to lay on his back, rotors splayed to the side.  
  


From his prone position Glam watched Windy bounce toward the stage. It was time for Jetsetter to pick what she was going to sing. The femme nestled in close under one of the flyer’s wings to supervise his song choice. There were shared whispers ended by Windy loudly laughing and announcing, “Yeah, I know this one.”  
  


Before taking the stage she playfully knocked her hip against Jetsetter’s, and the flyer ducked his helm in embarrassment, letting it rest on the interface they’d been at. A hardly audible, “Primus, I miss my mask,” was muttered to the keypad. His hand moved to press the start button, quickly hurrying back to his seat to give her the spotlight.  
  


Glam scrambled to sit up proper so he could watch the blazing pink femme go. She was there to entertain whether it was four people or four hundred. She made the small platform an entire scene with her body language. He nabbed Rager’s mostly full glass of engex to sip on as he watched. The song chosen was about showing one’s ex how much better they were doing now, and it seemed like Windy would’ve known that song. She had a serious relationship end not too long ago, one that had gone through some of the war. As she had told the other contestants in the lounge, the mech thought he could get better and had told her as much. She was not what he would ever want. The relationship didn’t even end with them as amicas--it just ended.  
  


Overall Glam didn’t know much about Windy, yet her drive said a lot about her. His thumb rubbed at the side of the glass cradled in his hand. There was a lot of the pink femme that reminded him of Rosanna in some ways. He spared a glance in the cassette’s direction. Windy wanted to be seen, wanted to be heard, and was putting her all into _being_ . She might leave tired at the end of the day, but it meant she was getting stronger.  
  


Windy was his favorite to win. He wanted her drive, energy, and passion to be rewarded. Glam wanted to see her get her dream. It caused a swell of nostalgia in his throat and perhaps he wasn’t paying as much attention to her song as he thought he was going to. He set the now empty glass down. This frame wasn’t as used to engex as his homeframe was. There was a gentle fuzziness at the edge of his thoughts that was already starting to make this pretty tolerable.  
  


Rager reached for her glass and cycled her optics at its empty state. She held it and gave a light, aggravated swat to Glam’s nearest arm. He turned to look and gave a tilt of his helm and shrugged, his hands mirroring the unspoken ‘I don’t know’ drawn up with his shoulders. The femme’s mouth slanted into a frown and her eyes narrowed. Since Windy was still singing she silently mouthed, “I’m watching you.”  
  


Windy ended her song with a bow. She smiled brightly as she put the mic back into its perch and wiggled her shoulders playfully as everyone cheered. “Yeah, Frag that guy!” It became apparent that Jetsetter had also been drinking. Rosanna busted up laughing, as did the rest of the group, but her laughter was perhaps the loudest. It took her the longest to compose herself and by that time the next round of drinks had been poured and a dent had been made in the snacks set out on the table. The small plates provided by the venue were a forgotten politeness as they grew comfortable with each other in conversation and just chowed from the serving dishes.  
  


The songstress wasn’t ready to give up the stage just yet. Windy stepped back onto the platform after the room composed itself, clearly on a mission. She pointed and curled a beckoning finger at Rosanna, her dental plating nipping her bottom lip as she playfully flicked her chin upwards. “Your turn.”  
  


Rosanna responded with a small giggle and a warm smile, a flush of pink lightly coloring her cheeks as she hopped up from the sofa to stand next to Windy. “Okay okay, what are we doing?” The smaller pink femme laughed, leaning around Windy’s side to see what the femme was very eagerly searching for.  
  


“I was thinking this one we can sing together,” the racer build poked at the screen with a mischievous smirk, earning a bright laugh from Rosanna.  
  


“Okay yeah, I’d be definitely here for that,” she replied, tapping on the title to solidify their selection. The two femmes were excited to be sharing the stage together, both feeding off of the other’s energy. An upbeat and energetic song began to play. Glam leaned and plucked a couple more snacks from the table. Seeing the two interact brought a smile to his face. Rosanna always loved roping people into performing. She, even more so, appreciated willing victims. The song was fun and catchy, and Glam caught himself dancing in his seat.  
  


It was hard to figure out how to behave. He couldn’t avert his optics too much or hold Rosanna’s gaze too long. He managed to get a drink to at least hold with his hands. The helicopter mech missed the sensory data he used to get from his medic-grade digits, as it would have provided a comforting distraction.  
  


The femmes pointed Jetsetter out during a line asking for the mech to come join them. The jetformer waved them off, pretty sure they were teasing him for an earlier comment he made during the competition that he hoped he’d find a date. The song ended with both of the gals laughing and hugging each other, both happy someone else was present to match their own enthusiasm and energy. It was hard to get Windy off the stage now that she was on it, and she pointed at and beckoned Rager to join them. “Rager, Rager, c’mon! I got a song for all of us, c’mon!”  
  


Rosanna made a pleading motion with her hands, cutely leaning forward. “Please, Rager?” Rager gave a long sigh but smiled, hauling herself up from the corner and shuffling past Glam to gain access to the stage. Glam knew it would be difficult for Rager to turn down an invitation like that from two pretty femmes.  
  


“I feel abandoned.” The teal and maroon mech complained jokingly from his seat in the middle, looking to Glam for some camaraderie. This brought an exaggerated shrug and the quirk of a smile out of his fellow mech. Windy and Rosanna both cheered as the the larger femme stepped up to join them, each book-ending Rager in an excited hug, which earned a massive smile from her as she wrapped her arms around each of their shoulders.  
  


It would seem the game was thrown off the rails for the time being in favor of spontaneity, which Glam was perfectly fine with. He switched the glass for Rager’s now abandoned engex since she was distracted, discreetly moving to take a sip. He used her drink to clear the spike of unwanted jealousy out of his mouth that was generated by Rager getting to perform with Rosanna.  
  


“So what are we doing, ladies?” Rager smirked down at the screen as Rosanna eagerly moved to point at a song title, which brought forward a deeply humored chuckle from the larger femme. “Yeah, I’m game for that.” The three all started in on another Earth song, one that was more similar to Rager’s hip-hop style she gravitated towards--which was admittedly really fun to see Rosanna perform.  
  


With the small group and the beginning of his third glass of engex, Glam felt relaxed for one of the first times in the competition. He knew that his dependence on engex was taking this moment to rear its head, but at least this time he had a promise from someone to help him find his way to his berth at the end of the night. The swirl of music and chatter pulled him along and he kept up with it. It wasn’t singing on bar tops, but it was just as fun, if not more so. Every so often he found himself glancing at Rosanna, and giving a small, tender smile that reached his optics and clutched at his chest before moving along.  
  


After a few rounds of songs, chatting, and drinking, Rager remembered _she_ was given the opportunity to choose something for Glam for drawing his number earlier--and it was clear from her smile that she had too much time to think about it. “Alright Glam, it’s time,” she announced, turning to the helicopter mech that had momentarily been distracted by a contest he was having with Jetsetter in building coasters into precarious towers. She had discreetly monopolized the song list datapad in the meantime, plotting her moment to strike. Rager comically thrust her arm out to point to the stage. “Get your shiny aft up there and SING.”  
  


“I can sing right here if you ask me nicer.” He leaned forward with a toothy smirk, cheekily resting his chin on the back of his hand.  
  


Rager immediately and abruptly stuck her foot out along the length of the couch and booted him from it. “UP!”  
  


Glam barely caught himself from sliding from the couch to the floor into a haphazard pile. He took to the stage and there was a moment of the two arguing about making sure she turned in her token so she couldn’t use it against him again. With a dramatic flourish she dropped it into the box from a height, showing everyone it had been done.  
  


“ ‘Hit the Brakes’. By _Rosanna_ .” The way Rager said it was the way someone might declare a defendant in court guilty. At the announcement, Glam met her with a long, challenging stare. The large femme wasn’t deterred from her selection, and if anything, the stare only emboldened her more. She had remained mostly sober while her competitor and charge was already several drinks in and wavering.  
  


Rosanna gave a visible wincing cringe. “Oh boy, that’s an old one,” she said with a small smile. The remaining two singers gave a low ‘ooooo’ of interest and suspense. It was gutsy to have Glam perform one of the panelists’ songs, but Rager didn’t seem bothered. She had already been subjected to her round; she had immunity for at least a little while.  
  


“You know it, right?” The tone from Rager wasn’t one of confirmation, but one more akin to a taunt. Rosanna’s helm tilted at the white and blue mech in curiosity.  
  


Glam took the mic down from the stand and shook out his arms to loosen up. Rager started the song, and it became quickly apparent he not only knew it, he knew it _well_ . He wasn’t paying much attention to the lyrics as they were displayed, lightly dancing to the sugar-pop melody, clearly having no issue in throwing himself into the song. Everything went well until the tipsy singer sang altogether different words from what was on the screen. Jetsetter was the first to call out in protest, followed by Windy.  
  


Glam stopped singing for a moment to address their concerns, “Hey, Hey, I know what I’m singing!” The music didn’t stop and he picked it back up, moving into the song and continuing to playfully dance to the beat. When the song came to its end, everyone's chatter started up.  
  


“You pounded too many drinks and can’t read straight?”  
  


“I thought you said you knew it!”  
  


“They still sounded good.”  
  


“I didn’t mess up the lyrics, the lyrics messed me up.” Glam jutted a thumb at his chest, trying to make his argument as he stumble-stepped down from the platform.  
  


“He’s right,” Rosanna noted, carefully eyeing him. It was another puzzle piece clicking into place in her mind. Glam knew singing that song of hers like _that_ would bring an edge of clarity to just how long ago he knew her. “Those were the original lyrics. The version circling now is an updated one.” She leaned over the arm of the sofa and crossed her arms, letting her chin rest on the back of her fist with a mildly mischievous smile as she took in the white and blue mech, her gaze near accusatory. “So, you’ve been following my music a while now, haven’t you?”  
  


Glam took carefully metered and balanced steps over to where Rosanna sat, the deliberate motion crafting a certain smooth swagger more akin to how he felt his hips move in his home-frame. The haze of engex and the victory of a won argument clouded his good judgment as he sensually leaned into her space over the arm of the couch, one arm propped across the furniture’s backing. He smirked toothily and tilted his helm forward to look at her more pointedly, gold optics meeting blue. “Long time listener, first time caller.”  
  


Rosanna’s optics widened brightly behind her visor, and Glam was close enough to feel the heat start to emanate from her face. Her lips parted in a start-stop way with a quiet stutter of her trying to figure out what to say. He felt his smirk tug upwards and his frame lean slightly closer, feeling distinctly pleased with himself at the reaction he got.  
  


His self-appointed bodyguard was on the move and grabbed the shell of his rotor hub to pull him back from the small femme’s personal bubble, the mech widening his optics and letting out a mildly startled noise at being yanked backwards. “OKAY Loverboy, before you get yourself in trouble.” Rager dragged him back to their leg of the u-shaped couch.  
  


Glam flopped across the length of the furniture and pillowed himself against Rager’s side. The abruptness of being yanked near off his feet was softened by the comfort of the position and being close to someone—someone _safe_ . He shuttered his optics, one of his hands lightly and absentmindedly petting the truckformer’s midsection. He liked the smoothness and warmth of the feeling.  
  


The large femme had settled back into her corner spot. Rosanna was still flustered, and the other contestants were looking on at the display with credulousness coloring their faces. Rager’s bluntness stepped in, her features taking on a flat expression as she could see the conclusions being jumped to. A corner of her mouth turned downward in an annoyed frown, and in an openhanded motion she gestured to the mech casually draped against her. “Don’t take this the wrong way; I’m Sapphic as _frag,_ and he’s touch-starved.” They were friends. She rested her arm across his frame in a kind hug.  
  


Conversation still continued around them, punctuated by laughter and music, but Glam was not prodded for participation nor was the femme that was serving as his pillow. Every so often something would rouse him and a hint of optic light softly brightened his visor. He lingered in that gentle haze, not quite awake, not quite in recharge. There was no thread of underlying tension of potentially having to act that was integral to his wartime survival. There was no miserable acceptance of his demise that had also manifested during his drunken stupors. He was safe there among singers and snacks, microphones and mirthful talk. The weight of Rager’s arm was an added security. He wasn’t alone. 

* * *

Rosanna stared up at the ceiling of her room, optics fixated on the intricate lines of the tiles above her as her thoughts picked apart the events from the evening. Her nerves were still alight from a night well spent, a pleasant exhaustion settling into her frame from the drinking, singing, dancing, and laughter that had taken place only hours before. As fun of a night as it was, she was intensely distracted by things that had happened--in a good or bad way, she couldn’t say for sure. Either way, her mind was occupied.  
  


Roughstuff made note of her spacey inward reflection on their way home, wanting to make sure nothing bad had happened. It was a slight embarrassment to admit Glam was the one primarily taking up her headspace, promising to talk to her protective friend more about it tomorrow and ensuring that no, he didn’t need to threaten Glam into better behavior--whatever that meant. She’d thoroughly map her thoughts out about the helicopter mech, but she wanted to take time to reflect on just how _much_ she liked everyone in general, and wanted to hopefully see more of them outside of the competition.  
  


The pop star had been excited about Karaoke with the remaining contestants for days, and she wasn’t disappointed. She couldn't remember the last time she was out drinking and singing with so many vocal talents--if ever. On top of that, everyone who went along was good natured and had enjoyed themselves too, from what she could tell.  
  


Windy was so excited to be there, and it was good to have someone that could match Rosanna’s own energy and was also more than willing to rope other people into her antics and encourage their participation. She was, however, surprised at Windy's near-genuine flirting with her. Windy, kind of like Rosanna herself, was a naturally flirty person, and she knew the heart of it was the diva-in-the-making being playful--that didn’t mean it didn’t get a blush out of the little pink pop star.  
  


Jetsetter was incredibly adorable as always, and very sweet. After he got his initial nervousness out of the way with a few songs and a couple drinks, he settled into the group easily and loosened up. He was a very joyful person down to his spark, and was very much eager to make sure the entire room was having a good time. Rosanna giggled quietly in thought, remembering that her and Windy couldn't help but indulge in some playful flirting with the poor mech, with his notorious hopes of finding love through the competition--which she was more than certain was going to happen for him at some point. With how expressive and reactive he was, it was incredibly difficult _not_ to tease him at least a little.  
  


Rager was a good sport for the evening, and was a good, solid personality to have with the group. Rosanna admired how she carried herself with such certainty and confidence, and there was both a quiet and understood strength about her. Without a doubt, the femme was there to have a good time--which the same could also be said about her presence in the competition. Her personality, charm, and ability to perform more than wowed onlookers in her presence, and there was a kindness in her that was reflected in her care and friendship towards Glam.  
  


Rosanna reached over into her pile of soft things and grabbed a pillow to hug to her chassis as her thoughts wandered back to the white and blue mech. Glam had given her quite a lot to think about with his behavior tonight, and stirred no shortage of a variety of feelings. To start was the feeling of guilt that quietly churned at the bottom of her tank. A few drinks too late into the evening Windy informed her that Glam had always avoided drinking in the contestant’s lounge after the shows--and the pacing at which the mech had been imbibing and sneaking drinks gave the alert that he likely struggled with substance abuse, something Rosanna would have been more than willing to accommodate for if only she had known about it.  
  


In their post-war era, issues with engex intake and the use of other drugs and stimulants wasn’t something terribly uncommon, not with the need to suppress trauma. Most people of compassionate spark and social graces were more than understanding about people’s situations with it. Once it became somewhat known to the room, everyone slowed and adjusted their intake to try to quietly divert the track it seemed Glam had set himself upon for the evening.  
  


However--as much as she hated to say it--like everyone else, the engex did seem to work as a social lubricant and helped calm his nerves. As Rosanna very clearly remembered, it also gave him the courage to be a lot more bold. He was the quietest of the group, but got steadily noisier in not an unpleasant way as he became more inebriated. He was the first to choose the music for the evening, and the first to set the precedence of everyone singing together and joining in on each other’s rounds.  
  


He was very friendly throughout the night, it being exceedingly clear he was doing his best not to make a situation with Rosanna. He wanted to have fun and not make things awkward for the group. That wasn’t to say, however, that she didn’t notice the looks he was giving her throughout the evening. More than a few times she would catch his stare, his features warm, soft, and tinged with an edge of sadness around the optics. It was a tender look of longing, and being held under a gaze like that made her inwardly fluster, with no time or opportunity to immediately address it.  
  


Forwardness didn’t become an issue until Rager spurred the situation. The large femme, historically, looked out for Glam for the most part. Between informing him of Rosanna’s presence so he could escape and being a general friend, it became a point of confusion when the femme put him on the spot to sing one of Rosanna’s old songs. The two stared each other down over it, but it was still unclear whether Rager’s intent was to help or harass the mech. What _did_ become clear was that Rager was definitely in the know on what was going on with Glam when it came to Rosanna.  
  


The second spur to Glam’s boldness was Rosanna’s own doing. When Glam went off script and started singing the original lyrics she wrote for “Hit the Brakes”, it very distinctly placed Glam on a narrow timeline of when he would have first interacted with her in order to know that version. She first wrote that song relatively early on in the war. The song stopped circulating for the most part, and it didn’t get an edited re-release until much more recently. Feeling emboldened with this new conclusion, she perhaps--a little too flirtatiously--tried to call him out on precisely just how long he’d been following her music.  
  


His response left very little doubt of his feelings and intentions, and her face heated again at the recent memory. Rosanna remembered how close he came to her face, how bright and familiar those gold optics were as he leaned in and smiled at her. She hugged her pillow tighter. She wanted to quell the hope that rose in her chest, and hush the thoughts that kept telling her he reminded her so much of Glit.  
  


The notion kept intruding upon her when she saw him, and tonight only intensified those thoughts. It wasn’t just his outward behavior towards her--the real tells were in the details that required no words at all to invoke the memory of the feline mech she missed so much. It was the way Glam’s smile quirked in a toothy way at the corners of his mouth, how he would duck and tilt his helm as he spoke in a both humored and bashful way. It was his gentle open handed motions, and the way his optics would brighten and narrow with a quiet laugh he held high in his chassis.  
  


Rosanna released a long sigh. She missed him. She missed his smile, the way he would hold her in his gaze and _know_ her. She missed her hand entwining with his paw, all his sweet little mannerisms that encapsulated his being and brought light to her spark. She missed his burning sense of purpose, the drive that pushed him to care so deeply for others and wanting the world to be better. She missed that feeling of understanding she had with him, the feeling of warmth and comfort his presence would always bring knowing with absolute certainty he accepted her for all that she was.  
  


There was a quiet hitch in Rosanna’s systems, and she brought up a hand to her optics to wipe away the melting filament. She didn’t know if he was still alive. She was afraid to know the answer, and she knew she couldn’t build up the hope and expectation around Glam in the event she was wrong. For all she knew, the helicopter could be some unknown mech that knew way too much about her and would likely face a restraining order at the end of all this.  
  


Rosanna sat up, knowing she needed to clean her face and visor, feeling the heat having slightly singed the corners of her optics. She needed to calm down, she needed to rest. Tonight was a good night. She couldn’t obsess over this, not now. It wasn’t going to do her any good, nor was it likely going to do Glam any good. Yet, it was how she felt.   
  


She went to her small apartment wash rack, lifting her visor and taking a long look in the mirror, her own exhaustion reflected back at her.  
  


_What if it was him?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, not the best moment for Rager, we will say. Glam is a bit of a mess, and Rosanna has most definitely not forgotten about Glit. Hope you guys enjoy, let us know your thoughts! (concerns? Everyone is a bit of a disaster in this fic hahaaa)


	14. Shut Up and Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs featured in this chapter are "Shut up and Dance" by Walk the Moon and "Pompeii" by Bastille.
> 
> A lot of on-stage drama here today. Jetsetter opens the show and Glit is still very, very much a disaster. Bless 'em.

It was Jetsetter’s turn to open this week. The mech had confided in Glam that he was nervous about starting off the whole show. He wasn’t theatrical or showy, he didn’t know how to fill a stage. Unsure of what advice to give the mech exactly, Glam told Jetsetter not to be intimidated by his own showiness. He did it because it was easier for him to be over the top than it was to be genuine. People liked Jetsetter for who he was, and so he needed to go out there and be himself. He needed to go out there and make them feel something.   
  


Glam was sitting back in the contestants lounge waiting for the show to start. He and Rager had taken their usual seat on the couch together and watched the wall mounted screen. “Good luck, Kid.” The helicopter quietly uttered as they waited for the performance to get started.    
  


Rocksteady finished his opening spiel and the cue was given for the young mech to come out on stage. The crowd greeted him enthusiastically, excited for the show and excited for the mech’s first time in opening. Jetsetter smiled sheepishly, waving to everyone as he made his way to a large, beautifully ornate piano-adjacent instrument that was set up at center stage. He settled himself down on the bench, looking down at the lustrous keys in mild awe. “Hoo, not used to something this nice, wow” Jetsetter laughed lightly, the audience responding in turn with light laughter.    
  


He took a good moment to look around at the crowd, taking in the sight. “Hi everyone,” he greeted with a cheerfully nervous voice. “I know this isn’t the kind of opening number you guys are used to. It’s not the most cheerful note to start on for the night either, but. When I first heard this song, I knew it meant something very important to me. I felt it down to my core, and I’ve been waiting for the right time to share it. And I think it might mean something to you, too.” 

After a long pause, he began to play a soft melody, his voice gently starting to vocalize to the sound. 

_ I was left to my own devices _

_ Many days fell away with nothing to show _

_ And the walls kept tumbling down _

_ In the city that we love _ _  
  
_

The audience had gone almost completely still, taken in by the intense amount of emotion pouring out from the mech and his instrument. His voice was incredibly soft, sadness and hope coloring every note. 

_ But if you close your eyes _

_ Does it almost feel like _

_ Nothing changed at all? _

_ And if you close your eyes _

_ Does it almost feel like _

_ You've been here before? _ _  
  
_

It was a song that deeply resonated with their past, with anyone who lived through the nearly eternal tragedy that was the war. Though their world and society had been largely rebuilt, and notably better than it was before, everyone knew it wasn’t perfect. Some problems that existed before continued to exist now, and old ones that had been felled with their old society seemed only to be replaced by new ones forged out of the remnants of the war. It was an unspoken fact few dared to outright mention, lest risk alluding to the idea that, perhaps, not as much societal progress had been made as they wanted to believe.    
  


_ We were caught up and lost in all of our vices _

_ In your pose as the dust settles around us _

_ And the walls kept tumbling down _

_ In the city that we love _

_ Grey clouds roll over the hills _

_ Bringing darkness from above _

The camera momentarily cut to the panelists to catch their reactions to the performance. Jazz appeared very stoic, which was a stark comparison to Rosanna beside him, who was covering her mouth with her hands as a small trickle of filament seeped out from a corner of her visor. Sundor was leaning forward with his arms crossed on the table, his expression soft as he watched the performer. Crosscut’s optics were distinctly narrowed, his shoulders drawn and rigid.

_ Oh where do we begin? _

_ The rubble or our sins? _

_ Oh where do we begin? _

_ The rubble or our sins? _

Glam caught on to the repetitive lyrics of the song and softly began singing along with Jetsetter. He felt a small bit of heat prickle in his optics, but tamped it down quickly. It was understandable how the other mech had picked this song. The flyer had warned everyone. It wasn’t perhaps the happiest of songs, but the maroon and teal mech seemed to take his advice earlier in the week and ran with it. He was making everyone  _ feel _ something.

_ If you close your eyes _

_ Does it almost feel like nothing changed at all? _ _  
  
_

Jetsetter looked up from the piano, the last note fading into the quiet of the room. The crowd burst into a near deafening uproar of cheers. He looked around at the crowd, a beaming smile spreading across his face. He got to his feet to walk out to front center and stopped, continuing to look around in awe of where he was and what was happening. His face sweetened in an almost tearful expression of disbelief, his optics softening. “Thank you. Thank you all so much,” he laughed, his voice almost caught in his throat. “Thank you.”    
  


Glam and Rager watched as the proceedings continued, Rocksteady coming out to say a few words before engaging the audience and directing the panelists to give their commentary. “Damn, kid.” The large femme breathed quietly as the two continued to watch. Cusp was up next, the mech already preparing himself and his routine elsewhere. After Armorhide left, the crooner pretty much kept to himself when it came to intermingling with everyone.

“How do you think our resident tight aft is going to fare after  _ that _ ?” Rager gestured with her chin to the monitor, looking down at Glam. “Think the crowd is going to be up for that yowling?” 

His mouth was drawn in a wince and he drew air into his mouth. “Probably not.” Glam shifted in his seat. The long drawn out singing started and the tone of the song sunk in amongst the contestants in the lounge. 

“Fragging _ Yikes. _ ” Rager announced overly loud and flatly. The song was about reminiscing on “the good years” from back in the day, and how he felt like he had aged like fine wine. Perhaps he’d aged a little too long and was more akin to vinegar than something palatable. It seemed horrendously tone deaf if Cusp had known what Jetsetter was going to perform, if he had the sense to ask how the show was going to be opened in the first place. The following lack of strong applause reflected the mood in the crowd.

The femme clapped her hands on her knees. She rocked back and used the momentum to pull herself up to standing. “Welp, I’ll do my best to pull the show out of that nosedive. Wish me luck!” Rager waved to Windy and Glam. They both responded to cheer her on. 

Jetsetter passed her coming into the room, “So what did I miss?” His perkiness indicated that he was blissfully unaware of the catastrophic tone shift that occurred after he had left the stage for a post-performance interview snippet.   
  


* * *

  
  


Glam wrung his hands as he waited to take to the stage. To say he was in his head this week would have been an understatement. Not only was he in his head, he wasn’t even in the present. All he could really think about was where and how his feelings for Rosanna had grown. After seeing her that night, after being there with her and singing among friends, all he could think of was back then; to the time they shared on the Autobot base. After the night of karaoke with everyone, Glam went through the songs he had selected for the competition and shuffled the order. Changing plans so late in the week hadn’t won him any favors with the stage crew, but he no longer felt compelled to continue on with the song he had originally planned.    
  


One of the stagehands waved them to head out. After Glam’s last performance, this stage setup seemed tame. It was probably why his change in song had been approved. The stage set up was easier. It started dark. He looked at the pair of dancers that found their places behind him. Besides himself, they were going to be the main focus. The two were, in the grand scheme of things, recently conjunxed. They stood close, almost constantly touching. They would meet optics frequently and radiated the feeling that Glam once briefly held. He cycled air, pushing down emotion that pressed forward behind his optics. The singer gave the signal to start. 

The music began. A half-transparent, holographic crowd flickered into existence on stage. Lines ran through the pale blue holograms, replicating older style projectors that had been more common toward the start of the war. Two spotlights lit from above--one on Glam at the front, and the other on the pair of femmes. The first notes of the song were seamlessly repeated to allow more build up than the song originally allowed. Colored background lights flickered from behind as well as above. The dancers were toward the opposite side of the stage from where Glam was positioned off-center near the front at a mic stand. Their job tonight was to tell a story, and help plant a reminder of the time he had shared with Rosanna.

One femme held the other’s hands in hers. She had a wonderfully large, bright smile as she playful tugged her partner away from the edge of the crowd toward the center of the stage. Her mouth mimicked the words as Glam began to sing. He watched the pair for a moment, but knew he’d have to trust them--and he believed he could after spotting the small, loving look that crept onto the face of the partner being drawn forward by the other. He kept the song’s timing with a bounce of his leg.   
  


_ Oh don't you dare look back _

_ Just keep your eyes on me _

_ I said you're holding back _

_ She said shut up and dance with me _

The helicopter mech focused on the panelist box instead of the dancers or the audience. Before now, he had mostly tried to ignore Rosanna while on stage, except for dropping a line or two in her direction during one song. He had done his best to avoid her altogether when he could. Tonight though, Glam was letting her know that, even if she had forgotten him,  _ he _ remembered her to his core. There was an expression of surprised bewilderment from Rosanna at his immediate boldness in addressing her right at the start of the song, her optics bright, clearly taking in the scene before her. Behind him, the dancers were still working their way to the center of the stage and putting on a show to the crowd about their love. 

_ This woman is my destiny _

_ She said oh oh oh _

_ Shut up and dance with me _

He remembered one particular evening on the Autobot base when he took to the stage with her, their edges softened by the company of the other and maybe a drink or two from the canteen. Rosanna had made him feel brave and faded the unpleasant edges of a crowd that scared him. The way she made him feel seen was like nothing he’d known in his life. Her smile was a light that chased shadows out of parts of him that he didn’t care to acknowledge. She could have asked anything of him that night, and he would have done it--for her. 

_ We were victims of the night _

_ The chemical, physical, kryptonite _

_ Helpless to the bass and the fading light _

Emotion seeped into his voice, drawing from his past few days of thought. He kept time with his body, a fun sway of his shoulders as he sang. Rager had caused a situation at karaoke that brought him in front of Rosanna. With his inhibitions lowered, he had made her blush. Their faces were close and the color of her optics brought a certain night tumbling back into his mind, one the helicopter mech knew he wouldn’t ever forget. There was no getting away from how he felt back then, especially since he somehow, so many years later, still felt the same. 

Glam didn’t look at the dancers behind him, but knew from rehearsal that they had paused in their trek to stand, looking into the others' optics for just a moment. Him and Rosanna too had paused, so long ago, before the spotlight lit that stage to allow his gold and her blue to meet. The moment drowned him. They both had to live those moments like it was all they would have with the other, because they knew that was likely true. 

_ Oh we were bound to get together _

_ Bound to get together _

On this stage, he hoped to make gold meet blue again. Glam smiled as he knew the femmes behind him started dancing. The lead was an enthusiastic dynamo and her hapless, hesitant partner was swept into the ocean that was that moment. The song wasn’t a challenging piece for him vocally, but keeping himself in the present was a battle he was beginning to lose as he looked at the small, pink femme sitting in the panelist’s box. She was leaning forward slightly in her seat, her hands grabbing the edge of the table and drawn close to her form. Her optics were wide and intense behind her visor, the rest of her expression muted in comparison.

_ She took my arm _

_ I don't know how it happened _

_ We took the floor and she said, _

_ Oh don't you dare look back _

_ Just keep your eyes on me _

At the base the storm had raged outside. They lived on the inside. They stole every moment, glance, and song they possibly could. They danced playfully, joyously, and with a small amount of reverence for the  _ now _ they had been given. They sang with feeling and richness, and unrepentantly wanted to be heard. They ignored the red of her badge and the yellow of his for these moments of living with all colors. They gave themselves to performing and trying to make others feel as happy as they did that night. Remembering back, he felt things went too quickly, but in living it, things were what they were; there were fast moments and slow moments, knitted together in a harmonious patchwork. 

Presently, he held his hand out in Rosanna’s direction as he sang. His other hand was held at his chest, lightly tapping the high shine metal with his knuckles. 

_ A backless dress and some beat up sneaks _

_ My discotheque Juliet teenage dream _

_ I felt it in my chest as she looked at me _

In his memories they were still dancing. They wove around each other. He managed somehow to keep his four feet from becoming tangled with her two. They were like the dancers in love he currently shared the stage with, moving perfectly with the other and with well-felt trust. Everyone who saw them then knew what they had, and no one dared to bring up tomorrow or even the next day in their presence. What they had was fragile and relied upon tomorrow not coming. 

_ I knew we were bound to be together _

_ Bound to be together _

Their song set ended and they had been left standing on the platform at the end of the rec hall that was their stage. It hadn’t been much, it being a wartime rec hall with limited resources to spare. The small platform had a couple of lights and some sound equipment, but that was all, besides what they brought to it themselves. They stood there for what felt like an hour. He memorized her face, and the color of her optics. He logged the color code so he’d know it even when he wasn’t held frozen by them. At that moment, he didn’t know it would later become his favorite color, but he should have. There were a lot of things he didn’t know then as they stood with their faces just a breath apart. He wished he hadn’t stood there dumbly. He wished he had done something, anything to let her know how he felt. He wished he had at least kissed her. 

_ Deep in her eyes _

_ I think I see the future _

_ I realize this is my last chance _

Just like that, the moment was gone. They had laughed with bashfully ducked helms, blushed tinged faces and he was tugged from the stage to the dance floor. The rest of that evening had passed, and he felt whole. He didn’t have any piece of him missing. Glam didn’t know that after leaving the base, after leaving Rosanna, he wouldn’t quite ever feel that way again. 

_ She took my arm _

_ I don't know how it happened _

_ We took the floor and she said, _

The song was ending, and he had to draw himself out of the past. Now, like then, the crowd had stopped fully existing. The holograms on the stage flickered out, leaving the femmes posed together, radiant. They would go on happy and leave this performance with each other. They’d probably go home tonight and rest in each other's arms. They’d tell each other goodnight and I love you. It was a bravery that Glam had never been able to muster. 

He took in Rosanna’s body language as he sang. She was watching. She was quiet. Her shoulders were tight and her elbows on the table now, her hands laced together in front of her mouth. She was higher and drawn more forward from her seat than before, having progressively migrated more and more as he sang on. Between her visor and her hands, no expression was readable from the stage. He knew that to mean she was thinking, but he couldn’t tell if that was necessarily a good thing. Glam sang to her this entire time, word for word as he tried to read her. The pink cassette was having her chance to read him as well. He wasn’t restrained as he had been during karaoke. Right now, he was here for her. 

_ Oh oh oh shut up dance with me _

_ Oh oh oh shut up dance with me _

It was over. The crowd was cheering, and a murmur also cycled through it. Glam stood there. The stage didn’t go to black. In fact the opposite happened, as the lights were brought up to their usual level. It still didn’t click even as Rocksteady’s voice announced the song and praised the dancers. The host was proceeding through the scripted lines about the dancers’ careers and wished them happiness moving forward in their union. The host’s voice sounded muffled in Glam’s perception.    
  


His optics had dropped from Rosanna and the panelist box as it began to sink in. The stage hadn’t gone black. He was still on stage in front of everyone, the audience, the panelists, and probably worst of all--Rosanna. He shuffled his pedes and cycled air. His tongue felt at the inside of his cheek as he really began to assess his situation. 

Rocksteady’s arm moved across his shoulders and the host leaned in, giving what was intended to be a comedic pause as he lightly patted Glam’s shoulder. “Did you forget to cut to black?” It really wasn’t a question. 

Glam only nodded shallowly and dragged his bottom lip into his mouth contemplating if there was anything he could say. “Yep.” The word was squeezed out of him. The audience stifled a laugh. He still didn’t look at the panelist box. 

“Yeah, no running away this time my friend,” Rocksteady chuckled as he patted Glam’s back. “So uh, you wanna take this opportunity to explain yourself?”

Still not addressing the panelists, Glam raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck. His optical ridges raised and he titled his helm, “I don’t have to explain slag.” Another round of laughter went through the crowd. His bravado appeared to have managed to leave the stage before he did.    
  


“Well, alright then! I suppose that leads us to our panelists. Now, what do you all have to say about this lovely bit of PDA? Rosanna, perhaps you might have something to say?”

Glam hesitantly looked up at the femme, his brows knitted. He knew if confronted he could not explain his behavior in a satisfactory way or risk being pitted from the competition. He was too close to what he needed for that to happen. Dread started seeping in at the corners of his psyche and he didn’t realize he was holding his venting.

Rosanna stared down at the mech very intently, her chin propped over the back of her folded hands. She was quiet for a moment before she smiled and shuttered her optics, ducking her helm with a small shake of her head. “I’m speechless,” she replied with a small laugh in her chassis. “I honestly don’t know what to say, and that doesn’t happen very often. You did great, Glam.”

The tension in the air eased up once when there wasn’t a confrontation. A spur of conversation rolled over the crowd. The other panelists sagged a little, knowing that whatever happened wasn’t going to be addressed publicly. Sundor was quick to pick up the ball to not let the conversation linger and tension grow again, “It’s really a rookie move to sing to stage center, though honestly that’s what this is about. You are the rookies and us, panelists,” he gestured to himself and to either side of him before continuing, “are here to help you out. We come with years of entertainment experience, and while there are probably quite a few mechanisms here that would have liked to be in Rosanna’s seat-“ The seeker build delicately swatted the arm of the cassette next to him to show he was making a joke, “You need to work the crowd. You need to convince everyone that they are part of that story. What you did might’ve worked in a bar with a small crowd, which I don’t know your background Glam, but if you want to go big you have to think and act big.”    
  


The helicopter’s rotors relaxed into a neat line down his back as Sundor gave him an out. He had a distinct feeling that he might now owe that flyer, but he was grateful nonetheless. A nervous, near voiceless, bark of a laugh escaped before Glam’s words could make it out. “I’ll, uh, keep that in mind. Thanks.” His optics flicked back to Rosanna from Sundor briefly. 

“Whether or not I like to admit this, I’m with Sundor on this. While you did well conveying feeling with this song, there is some disconnect between you and the audience. You perform. You put on a show and they like you for that but as of late you have done a poor job engaging them. They are here for a live performance, not a recording.” Crosscut took the social cue to continue, though at this point Glam wished he hadn’t. Something about the mech’s high end dialect made it more cutting to the singer than the appraisal should have been. It was the first time in the competition that the white and blue mech really felt like he was at risk of failure. His stance shifted and he tried to brace himself for the continuance of his worst critique so far. 

Jazz shifted in his seat, drawing a leg under himself to sit up higher. “So my mech, what have I warned you about before?” 

Glam cycled his optics not expecting at that point to be asked a question. It caught him off guard and he cutely tilted his head as he took a second to catch up. “Cut down on the gimmicks.” 

“Good, but you were too late. You had your big opener. Stupidly big and this was underwhelming by comparison. I warned you, that you can’t go at 100, 100 percent of the time. Now you’re going to have to build back up, and there are competitors that didn’t dip this week.” Jazz leaned forward on his forearms and looked at the mech on the stage. “You got a week to plan how you’re going forward if they,” he jabbed a thumb in the direction of the audience, “let you go forward.”    
  


Glam nodded, “I’ll do what I can.” He folded his hands together low in front of him and tried to get his shoulders to relax. With how dicey this panelist review had been it meant he would have to stay instead of going back to the dorm after his song. He guessed it was time to stop being so cocky. This wasn’t his day job, and he’d been fired from his day job if that was any indication towards his abilities.

“Okay guys, some positives, please!” Rosanna chimed in, punctuating her words by tapping her hand on the table. Her gaze shifted to look at Glam again, gesturing now with both hands. “Your spark was in this one tonight. Not every performance has to be a showstopper--sometimes it’s about singing what’s in your spark, and that’s something that’s also been asked of you. And I’m very happy to see it. I also think it’s fair to say that a lot of people can relate to what you sang tonight. Whether you’re singing for one person or a crowd, there was joy on this stage tonight, and I don’t think there’s any denying that.”   
  


The mechs on stage both looked to Rosanna. Unfortunately after the prior comments Glam felt her attempt to be nice was more out of pity than anything else. Rocksteady patted Glam on the back again. “I think he’ll have something to chew on backstage, but we gotta get onto our next contestant! Everyone give a round of applause for Glam!”    
  


Glam put on a smile like a kid in a school play put on a tree costume and waved to the crowd. He jogged off stage and while he was nervous about potentially all of his work so far being for nothing, relief still crept in. He thought about the engex in the lounge, how good it would feel to dull the unpleasantness that threatened him. The engex would slow down his emotions and thoughts and just give him a break. Glam waved to Windy as she passed and he made the decision not to go into the lounge. He was trying to be better and he wouldn’t get there by falling back into old habits. Not wanting to be a bother to Rager, he resigned himself to hanging around backstage till he was given the all clear to leave. Not wanting more interaction for the time being, he looked up again. It was as good a place to sit as any. He went to the ladder and disappeared into the stage lights and the grated walks.

* * *

The show was wrapping up for the evening, and Rosanna was making her traditional visit backstage to speak with everyone. Cusp, to Rosanna’s unspoken relief, was the one voted to go home tonight. There was no doubting the mech’s talent. There was no doubting anyone’s talent that was on the show, but the femme had a distinct feeling his temperament is what prevented him from moving forward in the eyes of viewers. The mech--whose real name was Cluster-- carried elegance, grace, and an acutely refined charm, but he also carried an air of arrogance that was starting to wear on people in comparison to the more emotionally relatable contestants. His performance tonight also gave the message that he romanticized the past--a sentiment most people didn’t exactly share. It was difficult for a lot of people to relate when the society Cluster referred to with such nostalgia had been responsible for intense poverty, discrimination, and had led to millions of years of death, anguish, and the near total loss of their planet. It was, perhaps, a little tone deaf.   
  


There was likely a place for Cluster and his music, but it’s not what the people wanted right now, not with the spirit of the competition. He wasn’t the person that needed to win this the most, or the person that needed their vision represented. Cluster would be fine. Regardless, Rosanna intended to send the mech off with congratulations on his achievement, a few words of encouragement, and one of her fully disguised, less genuine apologies.  
  


Jetsetter, Windy, Rager, and Glam were the final four, and the knowledge of that put an extra spring in her step as she entered the backstage area. Each one of those individuals she had placed as a favorite and/or a person of intense curiosity and interest, in Glam’s case. Rosanna had sat waiting for the votes to come in, very worried the mech would be the one going home tonight. What he did on stage was extremely risky, and her fellow panelists were very critical and made sure everyone knew of his misstep.    
  


Not that she necessarily blamed them, per say. She couldn’t deny their points, but she knew that a lot of their harshness likely came from a source of protectiveness towards one of their fellow panelists. It was no secret to anyone at this point there was something going on with Glam and Rosanna. If she didn’t have the inkling notion that he was someone very important from her past, she wouldn’t stand for it. With the song he chose, the way he set the stage, the way he continued to look at her, to  _ smile _ at her with so much love and hope--it had to be him. It had to be Glit. She didn’t want to do this to herself, but she was going there. Nothing else made sense.  
  


It did bring up the question of what he was doing here in the first place. Why  _ Cybertron’s Brightest _ ? With how passionate he was about being a medic, about helping people through his knowledge and abilities, how intensely, wonderfully stubborn he was to stick to his morals about his mission in life, it didn’t make sense that Glit would steer his path towards a career in the music industry. She had a hopeful thought that he may have joined to reconnect with her, but she reminded herself that none of the contestants knew who the panelists were going to be until they were actually on set and gearing up for production to begin. It would have been highly unlikely he knew. If he wasn’t here to start a musical career, and he wasn’t here for her, that left only one option. He was here for the prize money, and that thought only provoked more questions, and still a lot of unanswered ones from his mixed signals he gave in her direction. 

Rosanna wished she could just ask him who he was. She wished she could ask Blaster, the recruiters, or anyone on the team who  _ did _ know, but the terms of the competition clearly stated that contestants were prohibited from revealing their identities before they were voted off or before the end of the competition, except under extraneous circumstances. Anyone who violated this would forfeit their place in the competition and their potential earnings. She would get in trouble as well for directly asking him, and risking someone else finding out. If this was Glit, she didn’t want to jeopardize his chances at winning. She didn’t know why exactly he needed the funds--if that  _ was _ his purpose. If he was here, it was because he needed to be.

The femme paused briefly as she felt her thoughts lingering, wanting to make sure her mind was clear and focused enough on everyone else before she made her way into the lounge. Rosanna reminded herself she was going to find out if Glit and Glam were the same person no matter what. Whether it be next week or in the finale, his identity was going to be revealed, and she would know for certain. The thought of that made her both excited and sick to her tank all at once. If this mech was in fact someone else, she had it in mind to get a restraining order set against him, because there was no one else in her memory who should have the right to know this much about her, and act as he had other than Glit.

Before Rosanna could direct her thoughts further, the white form of the mech in question began his descent from the catwalks above, his rotors swaying as he stepped down the ladder. Even though his back was to her, the slope of his shoulders and the sag of his helm gave away his somber mood. She approached him, doing her best to push her thoughts aside and assume her role as a panelist, hoping she could lighten his spirits from the close call he had just endured. 

“Gli-Glam!” Rosanna called out, stopping a short ways away when he turned to look at her. He looked tired. His optics weren’t as bright as they typically were. She quirked her helm, smiling softly at the mech. “What were you doing up there?” There was a small breath of laughter in her voice.

“Havin’ a sit.” He matched her small laugh and let go a cycle of air. His optics drifted up to meet hers, and they were still soft and desperately imploring her to look at him before lowering them once more, releasing her from his gaze. Watching him was spark-breaking.    
  


“Interesting place to have a sit,” she chuckled. “Not a bad one, though, if I’m being honest.”    
  


The white and blue mech looked up at where he’d descended from and back to Rosanna a couple of times before it clicked. “I- Uh- I didn’t want to be underfoot.” His voice was quiet. He had disappeared after shows before, and Rosanna wondered if it wasn’t the first time he had scurried up there. 

She chuckled again, her shoulders shaking lightly. “I completely understand, don’t worry.” Rosanna paused briefly before continuing. She was glad she caught Glam before he could scurry away to turn in for the evening, but it didn’t change the bubble of nervousness in her chassis. “I just… I did want to tell you a few things before you turned in for the night, I know it’s been a long one. First, I wanted you to know that I’m really happy you’re still going to be here!” She lightly gestured outwards with her hands, trying to expel the ball of anxiousness from within her form. “I know tonight was kind of a scary one for you--on a few fronts, I think. But just, please know that you’re  _ extremely _ talented. And you deserve to be here.” Her words were tumbling a bit now. “And I wanted to tell you that I did really like your performance tonight. I really, really did. It just took me by surprise on stage.”

Glam nodded, “Like Sundor said,  _ rookie move _ .” There was a small, weak attempt to play it off as humor.    
  


Rosanna’s shoulders shook in a quiet laugh as she lowered her gaze. They both knew it wasn’t a rookie move. She moved her hands in front of her, her fingers moving to lightly fuss at a wrist joint as her breath trailed off into a moment of pause. She felt her face warm slightly, her mouth drawn in a soft smile that betrayed her nervousness.    
  


“Glam… I know this is kind of a dumb thing to say at this point, but… we know each other, don’t we?” There was a hopeful note in her voice. She wasn’t sure how he was going to take the question, or her approach. She didn’t know if it was right to ask, but she had.

The helicopter shook his helm, slowly and shallowly. He looked genuinely sad as he raised his optics from the floor to her face. “It was a long time ago. I won’t hold it against you if you don’t remember me.” There was a lingering bit of hope still lurking at the edge of his expression, but then it was gone. He mumbled a barely audible, “ ‘Scuse me” as he moved past her and left, not giving her the opportunity to interject or contradict. He was just gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some more fic character designs that I'm posting over at my Twitter and Tumblr today, for those that are interested. Happy Holidays, everyone!


	15. A Long, Long Time Ago Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback chapter! Being sweet and talking about their dreams.

Time during the storm seemed infinite. Days and cycles seemed longer and more drawn out with the lack of things to do around base, which suited Glit and Rosanna just fine. With the communications being blocked and no combat related injuries to fix, the pair found themselves seeking each other’s company more often than not. During the day they had their perches and haunts, and even some nooks and crannies where they stashed themselves away. In the late, late evenings, when the rec hall was bustling with everyone eager for fun and distraction, the pair could be found bringing joy and liveliness to the room that seemed to radiate in each other’s presence.   
  


It all felt something akin to a kind of normalcy. There wasn’t the constant overhanging threat of the base being shelled, there wasn’t the tension of never knowing when the next battle would be. For the first time in a long time it felt like they could breathe. And for Glit and Rosanna, when they were together, it felt like living.   
  


Long, lazy afternoons of talking, writing, singing and dancing dotted the days with sweetness and warmth that felt mutually healing. Rosanna carried the idea of hope like a torch for others, and supposedly herself, but now it seemed she truly felt and understood the feeling of intensity it was supposed to have. There was the hope of wanting something you’ve never had, of wanting things to be better than how they were--and then there was the feeling of _knowing._ There had always been the hope for a brighter future, but she never quite had the idea of what that really meant. Sure, she knew what a ‘brighter future’ should look like, but she never had any idea what it _felt_ like. The feeling she had right now with Glit was one that she wanted to hold onto, a feeling she knew to her core was what she wanted in her life at the end of this. And that feeling was love.  
  


Rosanna and Glit were occupying one of their favorite spots they stumbled upon one day while exploring the maintenance decks, having found a corner located next to a viewing port that showed the stars outside. Glit was lounging with his back against a wall, Rosanna having taken a seat between his legs with her back flush against his front so they both could have a view of the expanse outside. His forelimbs were lightly draped around her middle, the femme smiling softly as she absentmindedly extended and retracted the claws on one of his paws. Unless he was actively utilizing them, Glit typically kept his claws sheathed. The femme was being careful, or he wouldn’t have tolerated his paws being played with this much. It was somewhat endearing she paid them any attention at all. 

The two had shared a more rambunctious evening in the rec hall before retiring somewhere they knew they could wind down together and be close. Rosanna stared down at the white paw held in her hands, quietly contemplating a question as she vented softly and comfortably leaned back more into the feline build behind her. “Hey, Glit?” She asked lightly, lifting her chin to further address him. 

The white and blue mech tilted his helm and craned his neck to the side in order to get a better look at her. “Yeah, Rosie-Doll?”

“Okay, so. I have a hypothetical question,” she started. “Well, kind of hypothetical. It’s kind of more specifically a… thinking best case scenario kind of question.” 

Glit playfully huffed and rested his chin on the top of her helm. “Alright, shoot.” His optics went to the window and the vastness outside. This late, maintenance halls like this had the lights dimmed for energy conservation. It allowed the stars a chance to shine a little brighter. 

Rosanna smiled, bringing the paw she was holding closer to her torso as she extended her other hand for dramatic flair. “Okay, I’ll paint the scene here. It’s the future--we’re at peace. We’ve come together and are rebuilding Cybertron--nothing is holding anyone back, and you can do whatever you want. What do you do? Where do you wanna be at the end of all this?”   
  


She gestured a finger up at Glit’s chin in a half accusing manner, as if interjecting before he could retort. “And like I said, best case scenario! Nothing is holding anyone back from their dreams! You can be and do whatever, wherever you want. Where would I find a Glitty-kitty?” 

Her positivity spilled onto Glit and he moved to nuzzle at her helm, prompting a warm giggle to bubble up from the femme. “Hmm. Never really thought about it. Been more worried about the now.” It was hard to imagine the best case scenario. His optics partially shuttered as he tried to think. He tried to think of a Cybertron where he wasn’t going to get bumped around on public transit, where people wouldn’t feel inclined to just touch him without thinking about if he wanted that, or a Cybertron where there wouldn’t be a question if he was really qualified to be doing surgery. The best case seemed almost laughable. 

“Well yeah, I know,” Rosanna smiled. “But that’s kinda why I’m asking. What’s your dream? If you could do anything, what would it be? What would you want to do?” She moved her free hand to affectionately pet his cheek as if to coax the answer out of him. 

He moved into the gentle touch of her hand. “I’d probably be a doctor. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. I’ve just wanted to help people.” There was a rough sincerity to his voice. Glit hadn’t dared to really dream bigger than that. 

“Alright then, so you’re a doctor,” her voice smiled knowingly. “Where do you practice? Are you working at a hospital? Run your own clinic?” 

Glit felt the good-natured prodding but went with the questions. “Never really considered working in a hospital. I could run a clinic.” There was a bit of hesitancy at the thought. He was used to considering limitations others put on him. It was unlikely he’d ever even be put in charge of a ward, let alone be allowed to run an entire facility. “I don’t know. It’s something to think about. I just want to help people, and I don’t want people to question if I’m suited for it. I guess I’d be a doctor and try to keep people from falling through the cracks like before. I want to be where I can help _those_ people.” 

Rosanna vented lightly in a relaxed way, shuttering her optics. “You have such a good spark, Glit.” She was quiet, taking in his response as she turned her face more to nuzzle his chin. “That’s a really good future. We’re all going to need someone like you when we get to the end of everything. And I know you’ll be able to get there, too. You’re too stubborn for the universe to get in your way, I know that for sure.” Her voice was achingly hopeful, wanting desperately for truth to latch onto her words. 

The feline build allowed himself for just a moment to consider that idea. Their people being at peace, and working toward a society that both sides had promised the participants in this war. “What about you? What are you going to be doing? Dream big.” His voice had a deliberate purr laced in. 

Her smile grew. “I’m going to be a popstar, duh.” She replied. “I want to keep making music, and I want everyone to hear it. I want to help bring joy to people in the best way I know how. And that’s with my voice.” She turned her frame in their position so she could look more directly at Glit. “And not just me. Music is something that has the power to help hold us together. I want to help more people bring their voices into the world. I want to make sure we live in a future where people can open their sparks and share it with everyone.” 

“Ah, I see you’re going to drag us all into it.” Glit chuckled, still taking in her infectious optimism. He looked down at her as she looked up at him. There was a feeling in his chest of being filled. It was almost as though his spark had somehow grown too big for its housing and pressed outward. Medically, he knew that wasn’t the case, but that didn’t change the feeling. He probably could have stared at her for hours. She was one of a kind to him, and what they had was special--for however long they had it. 

“That’s the idea,” Rosanna replied. “We’re all in this together, after all.” She smoothly broke their gaze, shuttering her optics and ducking her helm under his chin again as she felt herself start to grow warm. She leaned in to cuddle against his chassis, settling down to a content position. “Or something hokey like that.” Warm laughter still sang in her voice. “But that’s where I’ll be. That’s my future.” 

Glit shifted to wrap a forelimb around her tenderly pressing to keep her close as she settled. “You’ll make it. You have to, now.” He teased. “Or else I’ll be really disappointed.” 

Rosanna chuckled. “Haha, you too. I’m counting on you, doctor.” Her face grew warmer at the halfway flirtatious statement. “You gotta chase your dream, Glit. And I wanna see you when you get there.” She resisted the urge to lean up and kiss him. He didn’t have a faceplate like hers, but the gesture still held the same meaning and intent. They both knew how they felt. But, there were lines they both knew they couldn’t cross, not with knowing this would all come to an end at some point, and they’d have to say their goodbyes. 

There was a large part of her that wanted to ask him to stay. However, in loving him, she knew him. And she knew to her core that asking him to stay with the Autobots wasn’t something she could do, nor was it a choice he could make without betraying his cause. He had to return to his side, to do all the good that he could, wherever he could. She wouldn’t have been able to live with the idea she was partially responsible for holding him back, and see him carry that regret in his spark.

In lieu of a kiss, Rosanna let her feelings seep out through her voice in a gentle hum, carrying a tune to a song they had been working on together, knowing he’d be able to feel it in his chassis with how close they were. Shuttering his optics he joined her in humming, commiserating in and treasuring this moment of closeness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we get a closer look at our finalists as they're sat down with Rosanna for their big interviews. Happy Holidays, everyone!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long chapter today, folks! 
> 
> Also before we jump in here, Wreckerbooty and I are going to be working on the epilogue for the story (that part's not actually written yet!). We wanted to give our readers the opportunity to reach out to us and give input on what characters they'd like to know more about heading into ending of the story. We're of course going to write about what's going on with Rosanna and Glit after the events of the competition, but this is your chance to let us know who you want to know more about, or what loose ends you'd like to see tied up or explored more!
> 
> Feel free to drop your thoughts in the comment section, reach out to us on Twitter, or message us on Tumblr at the same handles! (@thepumpkinbot and @wreckerbooty) We're always happy to hear from you guys and will respond when we can. Feedback in general is always appreciated.
> 
> Also to say, critique is always appreciated! We're always looking to grow as writers. Let us know if you like how we've interpreted these characters, or your thoughts on how we've managed the plot, or if there's something that could be improved upon with our combined writing styles! (this is a collaborative writing piece, after all)
> 
> Thanks for staying with us folks, as always. <3

Nothing had changed about the ceiling Glam was staring at. He was still trying to pick his song for the next performance, and the ghost of last night’s close call and his interaction with Rosanna after the show still haunted him as he laid on his berth. He played music on his internal comms, but it was being overshadowed by the noisiness of his processor.

Rager entered the room. One hand held a bottle of energon wine and the other carefully grasped two glasses with their stems crossed. A smile stretched across her face. “Hey, you ready to celebrate?” She aggressively brought her foot up to rest on the edge of Glam’s berth, propping an elbow across her knee as she leaned forward. The bottle of wine dangled next to her shin plating as she looked at him expectantly.

The helicopter was startled at the sudden interruption. He cycled his optics and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “What are we celebrating, Rager? My aft being safe?” After the words left his mouth, Glam realized his tone was uncomfortably irritated and most likely uncalled for. He opened his mouth again to apologize, but the large femme beat him to speaking.

If Rager had been put off by his tone it didn’t show as she leaned forward a bit more and spoke even more directly. “We are celebrating you getting  _ your  _ clinic.” Her hand holding the glasses was brought forward in offering towards his confused expression. Rager looked just a bit bigger as she filled with pride, clearly excited to be the one to deliver the news. The truckformer pushed the glasses at Glam and moved to open the bottle. The mech dumbly held them in his hands as his processor still fought to catch up, refreshing his optics as he watched her. 

A large pop from the opening of the wine snapped the mech out of his mental stall. “Wait, what? But we still have next week.”

The bubbling wine fizzed over out onto the floor, her leg, and the edge of Glam’s berth and Rager laughed loudly, cursing as she moved quickly to get the liquid into the glasses instead. “Ah frag it, I’ll clean that up later.” She brought the bottle and her hand to her mouth, taking a lick before finding a spot on his desk to set the bottle down. “Just got told, I’m going home this week. You’re in the final three.” She shook her hand to remove some of the sticky mess that lingered. “You’re getting your money. You’re getting your clinic. If you keep singing at her, you might be getting your gal, too.” Her voice ticked off imaginary boxes. Rager took one of the filled glasses from Glam and he let it lift out of his hand.

It was sometimes easy to forget that Rager was in the competition just because she knew Crosscut. She had stayed longer than people who really wanted to win. She brought her all to make up for it, and did what she could to make sure she never took too much of the spotlight from others. The bodyguard was talented as a performer, but it was never in her plans to give up her day job. Apparently, it had never been in the show’s plans to have her make it as far as she did. She was never going to be a finalist.

He brought the glass to his lips and the bubbling tickled his nose. “You’re leaving. I’m getting my clinic.” It was starting to actually sink in for the white and blue mech. He took a sip and his expression changed as the idea finally landed fully. Lowering the glass, the mech’s expression brightened further. “I’m getting my clinic.” The words tumbled out a little faster. His optics smiled and he looked up at Rager, who had been smiling the entire time. He reached out and put a hand on her upper arm. “I did it.” There was a sense of real accomplishment in his tone. It was the same feeling he used to have when the last part of a repair clicked perfectly into place, only this time he was fixing his life. 

Her larger hand covered his on her arm and gave a confirming press. “You did it. No matter what. You did it. You have a couple weeks left. You gotta sing and dance at them a bit more, but then you’re good.” Rager’s tone changed; it was warmer, less chiding, and more serious. She had been a friend to him during their time in the competition together. Her support had helped get him get through this. She had been there through his worries and his dramatics, but with her help he was coming out of this competition so much better than he entered it. 

“You’re going to let me know when you have it going, right? The clinic?” Her question knocked him out of his thoughts as she leveled her optics at him.

It was a clear message. Rager didn’t intend her involvement in his life to end when her role in the competition did. She was offering to be there later, and that wasn’t something he’d had often in his life. The glass of wine was lowered fully and Glam gave a firm nod but couldn’t seem to get any words out of his emotion-tightened throat. He felt the prickle at the edges of his optics that was a warning of soon to be melting filament. Moving to kneel on the berth, Glam latched onto her in a hug. His arm was slung over her shoulder. 

Careful not to spill more wine, she returned the hug. The femme ducked her helm, but after a moment felt the need to lighten the mood. She pulled back, and with a playful tilt of her helm spoke again. “Hey, this means you can be as gross as you want at Rosanna, and they can’t send you home. I mean, not that you could be any grosser than yesterday. Although I’m sure you’ll find some way to manage.” 

  
  


* * *

Rosanna sat in her designated chair, flipping through her notes and the list of suggested questions she was supposed to be asking the contestants. The room was set up for filming interviews of the three finalists, meant to cast a more in-depth and personal exchange with the singers to help viewers make their decisions on who they wanted to win. Rager was still set to perform her final song, but the execs made the decision to let everyone on staff know ahead of time that the femme was actually the last remaining panelist connection, and would be going home next episode regardless of viewer votes.   
  


Her identity was still being kept a secret, but it was clearly stated that Rager knew Crosscut somehow, which--given their near opposing personalities--was pretty confusing to Rosanna. It was hard to imagine the charismatic, charming, and brazen femme having any sort of association with the stiff, haughty senator. None of the connections that were brought on were ever intended to win, so that meant Windy, Jetsetter, and Glam were the top three finalists of  _ Cybertron’s Brightest _ . For not having came here to win, Rosanna was impressed--and mildly irritated--that the femme had made it so far. At the very least Rosanna hoped the femme would  _ consider _ her musical talents as a hobby she could have fun with and share. It would be a shame to never see or hear her perform again.

The team elected to film the interviews ahead of time so everyone could prepare accordingly and go into the last few episodes with their sparks at ease. They were all coming up on the final stretch of the show, which meant everyone was having to plan the last events and make their choices for songs weeks in advance. A lot of things were falling into place very quickly--for Rosanna, too. It was always in the plans that she was going to perform duets with the final three in the grand finale, something she was looking forward to with elated anticipation since the idea was brought forward. 

It did remind her, however, that she was going to be doing a performance with Glam as well. Although these interviews were supposed to be designed to give the contestants a chance to speak their case and make a connection with the audience about their motivations and hopes, Rosanna was also wanting to take this as an opportunity for her to have some more insight and gauge what she should do in her selections for their duet songs in the next few weeks. In the case of Glam, she was hoping to use this as an opportunity to try to discreetly pin down his identity. 

Rosanna was snapped from her thoughts as a voice started over her comms, bringing her focus back to the present. “Alright Rosanna, we’re good to go when you hear the cue,” the film crew directed her. “You ready?” 

The small pink femme nodded her helm, setting her datapad down on a side table. “Yep!” She replied, folding her hands in her lap. 

The crew did their final preparations before Rosanna heard the internal tone to signal recording had begun. She smiled warmly at the camera, holding a hand out to make a welcoming flourish. 

“Hi, everyone, and welcome to Behind the Brightest! We’re here at the studio today to have a one-on-one chat with our final three! They sang and danced their way to the top in pursuit of their dreams, and now we’re taking the opportunity before the grand finale to get down to the core of things. I think it’s needless to say that Windy, Glam, and Jetsetter have all won our sparks with their show-stopping talent, but now they have the chance to show us who they really are, what they’re about, and why they should be the one to walk away with the title of  _ Cybertron’s Brightest _ .” 

Rosanna cast a glance over at Windy standing off to the side of the room waiting for her cue to come join her in the shot. The singer’s optics were practically glowing, her hands folded behind her back in an effort to hold back her excitement. The energetic femme had worked so hard to get here, and wanted this so badly. 

“First up, we’re meeting with my girl, Windy!” Rosanna fully addressed the femme on her cue, beckoning excitedly for her to take the seat opposite her own. The racer left her perch against the wall and eagerly strode over to join the small hostess. The two femmes looked at each other for a long moment, suspense and anticipation hanging between them-- before they both shattered the silence and erupted into excited shrieks. “Aaaaa _ AAhh _ !” Windy and Rosanna reached out to clasp each other’s hands, their voices trailing off into laughter. It took an ounce of restraint for Rosanna to resist reaching out and hugging the femme. “You’ve made it! You made it to the final!”

Windy was smiling and talking through her laughter, the emotion meeting her optics. “Primus, I’m here and it’s great.” There was relief, pride and the shadow of exhaustion creeping in at the edges of her tone. 

“So how are you feeling now, this close to the end?” 

Windy squeezed Rosanna’s hands before parting and sliding back into her seat. “Excited, nervous, looking forward to it. It still hasn’t sunk in fully.” The racing build found out about the news mere moments before the interview started, so her statement held truth. Her processors were still trying to catch up and wrap around the concept that she  _ made it _ . 

“I could imagine, it’s a lot to take in!” Rosanna leaned back in her seat, cutely crossing her legs to prop up her hands, continuing to look at Windy. “You’ve come a long way from when you first stepped onto the stage, and you’ve gained quite a following, too! You have a lot of people rooting for you right now that want to see you go all the way. How does that feel?”

“It’s hardly imaginable. I’m here, and loving it, and living it, but this isn’t where I thought I was going to be. I don’t think anyone thought this is where I would be.”

“Where  _ did _ you think you were going to be?” Rosanna tilted her helm slightly at the comment.

Windy choked out a joking laugh. “Back at my job for another few centuries at least?” There was a knowing look on Rosanna’s face at her response, and she chuckled lightly. 

“I personally think this suits you better than your day job--whatever that may have been,” she smiled. “On that note though, and without giving too much away here, how has the competition changed your life trajectory? Or is this just another passing moment in the grand scheme of things?” Rosanna propped her elbow on her knee, leaning forward as she rested her chin on her knuckles. 

There was a brief pause before Windy responded. “So, I guess it’s as good a time as any to say-- I’m going to stay as Windy.” She gestured to herself, her frame. “I’ve always _ been _ Windy. Just now people can see me, as me.” There was a genuine pause as she thought on how to continue her answer. “This competition has changed my life. No matter if I’m first, second or third, I plan on you seeing more of me.” 

Windy was referring to the option contestants were given at the end of their stint on the show. If they had the funds, participants were allowed to purchase and permanently use the frames they assisted in designing for the competition. Alternatively, the frames were to be stripped of recognizability and donated. Windy had just announced her own intention to make this name and form her permanent identity. During the war, it hadn’t been terribly uncommon after intense rebuilds to take a new name that may suit your appearance better, or to adopt a nickname more permanently. The cassette felt a little silly that she hadn’t come to that conclusion already, given Windy’s open admiration for Sundor. “Oh!” Rosanna replied. “Windy, that’s fantastic! So yeah, this is  _ definitely  _ a huge deal for you!” 

The smaller femme reached out in offer to excitedly take Windy’s hands in her own again. “And I’m happy to hear that no matter the outcome, you’re determined to still remain in the spotlight and keep pursuing what you love!--although I’m sure you’re going to give this your all right up to the end. I’m so happy for you!”

Windy chuckled, propping an elbow on the armrest of her chair to gesture at the camera. “I’m in it to win it!” She replied cheerfully.

“There’s no doubt about that, for sure!” Rosanna took the tone to shift the direction of the interview. The smaller femme reached to the side of her seat to grab a datapad from a small side table, bringing it into her lap with an eager flourish of her hand. “Now, we do have some fan-submitted questions for you to answer too, are you ready for ‘em, Windy?” 

“Ready as ever! But remember I can’t say  _ too  _ much.” The stage lighting moved over the larger femme’s plating and the heavy metallic flake flared as she gave a cute finger waggle at the hostess. 

Rosanna chuckled at that. “I know, I know. We gotta stay in suspense! I’ll try not to pick anything too personal. With  _ that  _ in mind, we’ll start with something easy.” Rosanna shifted her position to lean forward over the datapad, her expression playfully severe. “Okay, Windy. What’s your zodiac sign?”

The racer build laughed. “That’s been popular now for a few years. I looked it up. I’m like, a Core or something. I can’t say I’m big on thinking stars somehow influence my life, but whatever revs your engine.”

“It’s just kinda something fun, I think,” Rosanna giggled. “I think people use it as an opportunity for introspection, you know? It’s always good to have a healthy dose of skepticism about these things, though! Okay, onto the next one…” Rosanna scrolled through the list of submissions. “Here’s a fun one! What do you like to do in your spare time?” 

“Is there such a thing as spare time?” Windy gave a high-pitched stress laugh that was intended as a joke. “Ok, so, I used to design flash decals for custom shops. You know, when you go in and you want something to make you look a little cooler than you are for that hot date you have, and you pick out a design from a book or the wall to go on your fender? That could be a Windy original. It’s not often, but sometimes I see people with one that I did, and I can’t help but smile.”

Rosanna excitedly tapped the arm of her chair with her free hand. “Okay, that is  _ insanely _ fun and cool, what the heck! If you still have some of your work around, I’d love to see it! 

“Maybe another time,” the femme chuckled. “Again, can’t give too much away.” Windy smiled, clearly happy for the flattery and enthusiasm, looking to Rosanna for the next question.

“Okay, and for the next one--” Rosanna trailed as she searched. “Ah, here! What has been your favorite song to perform so far?”

“Firework, I think. I was really there for it, and so was Sundor. I’ve always kind of admired him for going and doing what I wished I could do. It was just a really good moment for me. I felt like I was finally making it.”

“I think that was one of my favorites, too,” Rosanna replied, taking note of her comment about Sundor. “I do think it was definitely a turning point for you on the show, and you’ve only risen higher since then. I will say though, I’m excited to see what you pull out for the finale--and for what  _ we’re _ going to sing too!” 

That was something that had been sprung on the finalists as well. Rosanna had been itching to perform with the trio on stage after getting a taste of it during karaoke, and that was going to happen. “I think what we’re going to sing is up to you. You better pick a good one!” The contestant chided. 

Rosanna jokingly rubbed her hands together. “Oh, I got something planned,” she grinned with faux mischievousness. “Okay okay, but moving on--and this is something I’ve been really curious about too, but have you always been interested in music? Or is this a recent development?”

“I have always loved music. It’s emotion. It’s math. It’s energy. But I can’t say I had much of a chance in it before the competition. It was rough going for me trying to get booked somewhere that wasn’t doing open mic. I think I might have clashed with expectation a bit.”

Rosanna nodded her helm in understanding. “I think that really does embody the spirit of the competition, in a way. That you being here, being all that you are and being amazing, is hopefully going to help people overcome their own biases. Leading with that, Windy, we all know you want this--but I think the big question is  _ why  _ do you want to win? What would getting signed onto the label and a huge cash prize mean for you?” 

“It means everything.” She locked onto a more serious tone. “That sounds dramatic, but it’s true. I want this. I went out on stage and gave it my all each time. I want you to get to know me more. If that’s going to happen, I need your support.” Her attention and body shifted more as though to address the audience that was going to someday watch this. “I’ll do what I can. I’ve a couple more songs to show you during this competition but I've got more than that  _ just waiting _ if you give me a chance.” Her sincerity was sparkfelt. 

Rosanna smiled warmly at her answer. Windy was doing great. “And I think that about covers it for questions today! Now to sign off, is there a message you want to give to your fans?” 

“Be who you are. It’s not always easy. People might not like it, or support you, but you don’t need those people. If you get that chance you need to take it, and you’ll find people that see you’re special. You might not get it right the first time. You might not get it right the second or fifth time, and that’s okay.” It was obvious that she deeply felt these words. There were subtle clues, the tightening of her features, the way she leaned forward in her seat, the way she tucked her thumb into her clenched hands. “You might end up with dents and a broken optic, but this competition has really brought it home for me: there’s nothing more important than being you, and loving you.” 

Rosanna beckoned the larger femme to her feet, and the two singers met in an affectionate embrace before pulling back to hold each other’s hands at length. “Thank you so much for answering our questions today and being so genuine. Everyone’s excited to see you in the finale--and I’m absolutely  _ stoked _ to be performing with you!”

“It’s been a pleasure! Can’t wait for everyone to see my next performance--” Windy remembered that the next song after the interview would actually be her duet with Rosanna. She looked away from the camera to the hostess, “ _ our _ next performance! Thanks so much, everyone!” She gave a wave to the audience--in this case the film crew, and the cut was called. 

“You did a great job, Windy. Thank you,” Rosanna warmly shook the larger femmes hand before they parted. “Now go and rest up, and congratulations again!” Windy politely said her goodbye to Rosanna and departed with a promise that they’d have fun next week. 

The hostess cycled air as the crew was given a brief break, giving her time to prepare herself for Jetsetter’s turn and for Windy to make her exit. The first round of questions had gone about exactly as she expected them to. Windy was fairly predictable in how the tone of her interview was going to go: positive, excited, and briefly personal and emotional. She was a performer who was very conscientious of how she was perceived. It wasn’t difficult for Rosanna to mentally prepare herself for the exchange, but the next two to follow were pretty much wildcards in how they were going to behave during their interviews.

Jetsetter was sweet, compassionate, and incredibly emotional-- which made it difficult for her to gauge how intense the mech was going to get. It was possible he might try to keep things light-hearted, or he might take a dive into some deeper and more intense topics if she didn’t steer things correctly. One of the very wonderful things about the mech was that he wore his spark on his plating. He was deeply and genuinely honest, which meant she had to be a little more careful in what she asked him and how she directed him.

The break concluded after Rosanna had gathered her thoughts, and Jetsetter was brought in to sit opposite her. The mech looked somewhat disoriented, like someone who had accidentally wandered into an interview rather than being the actually scheduled guest. Over the weeks the crew had grown used to the mech’s frequently awestruck nature and directed him where to look. “You good to go today, Jetsetter?” Rosanna politely asked with humor in her voice, knowing he was probably also reeling from the news. “We can try doing Glam’s interview next if you need more time.” 

Jetsetter refreshed his optics and shook his helm. “Nope, I’m good!” He took a large in-vent and held it, puffing up his chest as he clapped his hands on his thighs. “I’m good.” He smiled at the femme. 

Rosanna laughed brightly, “Okay okay, I was just wanting to make sure.” She turned to lightly wave at the crew. “I think we’re good to go when you guys are.” After a few brief moments of final adjustments, the film crew gave Rosanna and Jetsetter the signal that recording had begun. 

“And we’re back with  _ Behind the Brightest! _ We’re joined now with Jetsetter, our adorable folksy-music lover!” She extended her open hand to the mech in an introductory gesture. The flyer smiled at the camera with his optics shuttered and rapidly waved a hand in a quick, tight manner. The crew behind the film equipment silenced their chuckling at his sweet but awkward demeanor. 

“So how are you feeling about being in the top three? You’ve come a long way from the first time you walked out onto the stage with your cyber-guitar.”

Jetsetter adjusted how he was sitting to face Rosanna more. “I mean, wow. I just found out and it’s still sinking in, but YEAH! Final three! I do feel bad about Rager though. She’s been really strong, but I’m excited. I went up against a lot of people here that were bigger personalities or had showier performances, but me and my cyber-guitar, we made it!” The words tumbled out in a jumbled mess. He was so nervous and happy. 

Rosanna beamed at him, “you did! And I’m so glad you’re here at the top, you’ve earned it! You’ve been such a joy to watch and listen to every week, and you’ve been so sparkfelt with everything you’ve performed. I think it’s been really inspirational for a lot of people, too! Which I think leads me to my first question for you--Jetsetter, what inspired you to come onto this show and share your music with us?” 

“Mostly my brothers teasing me.” He still had a smile, but he pursed his lips for a moment. “They are kind of jerks-- loveable jerks, but the whole lot of them are jerks.” He knew they’d be watching this from the way he acted. “I guess I had to prove to them that my singing was more than me just making extra noise.” 

Rosanna broke into laughter, shuttering her optics as it faded back into her words. “No kidding! I know they have to be super proud of you, even with their teasing! And I’m pretty sure you _ definitely _ proved to them you’re doing more than just making noise out here. So, was music something you were always interested in, or did something spark your love of it?”

Sadness crept into his expression, but it was effectively and mercilessly tamped down. “No, not always. I learned how to play from an older mech at a base my team was at for a while. I didn’t really have any hobbies, being so new and all. He’d sit out with his instrument, and I’d never seen anything like it.  _ He _ loved music. I took to it and he was happy to have someone to play with.” His voice trailed a bit as he was clearly thinking back. “As long as I still play it’s like he’s still kicking around, right?” Jetsetter made an attempt to keep things light. 

Rosanna was taken aback. The whiplash in tone was stark, but she withheld any overreactions. He was dropping information that was perhaps a bit too revealing about his identity, with the not-so-subtle comment he was likely an MTO, “being so new and all” and having a set of brothers. It didn’t come as a surprise, but it confirmed a lot about the mech’s personality, and revealed a lot about what his experiences likely were. People had died during the war, and it was hard to avoid that completely. Her expression softened. “That’s beautiful, Jetsetter. I know you’d be making him proud.”

Jetsetter silently nodded his helm with a small smile, giving Rosanna the permission to move forward with the conversation. “How does it feel to have so many people supporting you and cheering you on? You have a  _ lot  _ of fans behind you right now.” 

His helm ducked a bit and his shoulders were brought up. “Terrifying.” He laughed but straightened up and rubbed his hands on the tops of his thighs to remove some lingering jitters. “But, no, it’s great. I mean, I'm glad that people really like what I’ve been doing. I used to play in a bar and people enjoyed it, but you kinda always assume those people are just being nice cause you live in the same neighborhood as them and well, it’d get back to you if they said you sucked.” 

Rosanna burst into a fit of giggles again, covering her mouth to lightly stifle the noise. “Jetsetter, sweetie, I love you so much,” she breathed. She moved one of her hands to her chassis, the other lightly motioning towards Jetsetter. “I hope you know now those people weren’t just being nice! You’ve gone from singing in bars to performing on a large studio stage! That being said, how has the competition changed your life trajectory?”

The teal and maroon mech looked down for a moment as he thought and tapped his knuckles on his chin. “You know, I didn’t really think I’d make it this far. I haven’t really had much of a chance, but I’d like to learn to play more instruments. I might take some time to do that since I’ll have a bit of cushion with my winnings. I’d still like to play small venues though. I can actually see and interact with people instead of squint and hope that I, um--that they are getting it?” 

“I know  _ exactly _ what you mean by that. There’s something really special in being up close and being able to make that connection with your audience, which is so important to your experience with music. And wanting to branch out and learn to play even more instruments is great! There are  _ so _ many possibilities out there now since the war ended. It’s going to be exciting to see you experiment and learn! And I’m happy to hear that you’re wanting to continue your music no matter what.” Rosanna reached over to the side table to retrieve her datapad once more. “Speaking of audience interaction, we do have some viewer submitted questions for you!”

“Yeah! Let’s do it!” His wings perked up. He looked at the camera then to Rosanna again as he shifted to sit taller in his chair. 

“Great!” Rosanna beamed at him. “Okay, first up--I think I’m going to run with this for everyone just for fun, but what’s your zodiac sign?” 

“So, Aquarius? It’s like a star-shaped constellation. Supposedly pairs well with the Hunter sign, Shokoract.” The flyer playfully finger gunned at the camera and along with it, the film crew. 

She chuckled again at his enthusiasm. “On that note, has anyone asked you out yet?” 

A blush flooded Jetsetter’s face. He rubbed at the back of his helm, “Um, Not really. I mean, I’ve had fans throwing chips with their comm numbers on stage but, I uh- I’m really more just wanting to meet someone naturally. Like, have the right person, in the right place, at the right time just meet me. I want someone who is romantic. Crystals, dinner, walking at night together in a park, and I get to sing to them as we snuggle in for the night.” He clearly had gotten a bit lost in this imagination at the prompt. 

Rosanna reached out to take the mech’s hands in her own. “Jet, you are going to meet someone so very special one day--and sweetspark, if anyone ever hurts you, you let me know and Rosie will take care of it, okay?”

“Huh?” The flyer cycled his optics coming out of his daydream to Rosanna’s good-natured threat.

“Next question!” She gently patted his hands with one of her own before pulling back to look at the datapad. “Who is your favorite performer from Earth? You all have been performing exclusively Earth music and you’ve stated before that you really love the folk-pop genre, but have you been pulling from your favorites?”

“Earth has  _ so _ much, I can’t even begin to think about what’s my favorite. I just started digging around in Earth music. So how about I tell you my favorite Cybertronian group, and that’s the Yussian Sparks! There is a lot I draw from their music when I perform.” Jetsetter dodged the question. The Yussian Sparks were a pre-war group that didn’t survive the conflict, but it was nice to know that Jetsetter hadn’t limited his inspiration to current music. 

“I love their work, too! And I can definitely see the inspiration when you’re on stage, it’s a really nice homage to them that’s still distinctly your own style.” Rosanna looked down at the datapad, but set it aside when she figured she knew what she was going to ask. There were a few questions that were good to keep consistent between everyone. “For my last official question here for you--and it’s a pretty big one--why do you want to win _Cybertron’s Brightest_? What would getting signed onto the label and a huge cash prize mean for you?” 

The flyer was quiet. He looked down at his hands that had found their way to his lap. It was likely an uphill fight for Jetstter to win against Windy or Glam, but he still had a shot. “I want to leave a mark. I want a chance to be known for something. I’ve always been a part of a group, whether that be my faction, the unit I was in or my brothers, but I have the chance to be _ known _ for something. I want to put something good into the world. I want to study music and help bring back maybe something of it that was lost during all of this. I know I’m not as polished as Windy or as showy as Glam, but what I have is just as important.” He pushed his voice to hold conviction about that idea. Jetsetter hadn’t been the most confident during the show, but he most likely had been the most relatable and genuine. 

Rosanna vented lightly, taking a moment to look at the mech as she smiled. Jetsetter was the type of person she hoped would come out of the war--someone gentle, someone passionate and moving and driven, and someone who wanted to bring back a part of their culture that was lost. She reached out her hands again to gently take the mech’s in her own. “I can say with absolute certainty you’re going to inspire so many people in their own pursuit of music, and what you have done and will do from here will continue to bring more good into the world. No matter what, this is just the beginning for you, and I’m so happy you’re here in the finals to get a chance to win. The world sees you, Jetsetter. And you’re making it a better place.” 

The younger mech gave the hostess a sweet smile, and nodded. “Thanks, it means a lot.” He tilted his helm and tried to move things along, “any other questions?”

“I think that about covers it for today!” Rosanna replied, moving one of her hands to cradle her chin against the back of a finger. “I am going to ask though, are you excited for us to be performing together?” 

“Excited and terrified! I’m not much of a dancer. I asked a medic if I had two left pedes and he just rolled his optics at me and said I would have noticed by now.” Both of them laughed at the playful self-deprecating humor. 

“I promise I won’t throw any super complicated choreography at you, it’ll be tons of fun.” Rosanna moved to get to her feet, cueing Jetsetter to do the same. The two shared a brief hug before Rosanna moved back, holding his hands at length. “But thank you for talking with me today and for answering all of our questions! You’ve been really great, and so sweet. I’m excited to see you in the finale! Is there a message you wanted to give your fans before you head out today?”

Jetsetter looked to the camera since it was more of a message for the audience than for Rosanna. He didn’t have a grand speech prepared, and he wasn’t the best with his words. “Hey guys,” he waved at the camera. “We’re here. We made it! We have the rest of our lives, that’s a really, really long time. Bafflingly long. Do something amazing. I mean, no pressure, but just keep at it. A little bit at a time. Keep learning. Keep building. Keep making. Keep playing. That’s it.” He glanced at the hostess but his optics went back to the camera. “That’s my message I guess. Keep at it. Every little bit matters.” He brought up his fist to lightly shake in an encouraging motion. 

“Thank you so much, Jetsetter.” Rosanna turned to the camera once more, cueing the crew to stop recording. She threw her arms around the mech and her voice let out a tight squeal of exclamation. “You’re the sweetest bot, I love you so much and you’re going to be so great!” 

Blush threw a blaze across his face again and he turned to hug her back. “Thanks Rosanna! I am looking forward to doing a duet.” He mimicked his prayer motion from karaoke. “Please be kind.” He looked at the crew and extracted himself from the hostess’s hold, pointing off to the side of the room. “Guess, it’s Glam’s turn huh?” 

The helicopter mech shuffled lightly from the area next to the doorway, having already quietly made his entrance and waiting for his turn. Rosanna started slightly at the sudden appearance of the mech, not having expected him to already be there and watching. Glam politely waved at the two. “Hey.” These interviews were meant to go quickly and not take more than half a day for Rosanna or the contestants, and the mech was ready to keep things rolling. 

“Ah, hey, Glam!” Rosanna greeted. She turned her gaze back to Jetsetter, lightly patting him on his arm. “I’ll see you later to touch base about the duet.” 

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then!” The flyer made his way to the door and looked briefly between Rosanna and Glam in a curious glance as he made his exit, something obviously on his mind but knowing better than to say anything about it. The small femme made a beckoning motion with her hand at Glam. She was nervous, but had also been anticipating the chance to ask this mech questions all day to discreetly try to figure out if he was Glit or not. She was prepared--or at least, she felt like she was. She hoped she was. “It’ll take just a few minutes before we’re good to get things rolling again, but you’re welcome to come take a seat!” 

There was a flash of uncertainty in his expression, but the white and blue mech tried to swallow it before it became too apparent. He came over and carefully sat in his chair, mindful of his rotors. “Guess I got here a little early.” His posture was stiff and betrayed the calm façade he tried to sport. 

“Not unfashionably early,” Rosanna replied with a playfully dismissive wave of her hand. “It doesn’t take too long to get things set up for the next shot, so thank you for being so punctual, actually! I know the crew appreciates it, for sure.” She grabbed the datapad, pulling up the tab she had for Glam’s questions, making sure everything was in order. She briefly looked up from the screen to gauge Glam’s state and to keep him engaged. “I’m sorry for all this being so sudden, I know it’s all still a lot to process. But I’m really happy and excited you’re here.” 

“Rager may have given me a bit of a warning.” Glam leaned forward to play with his hands nervously. The fingers of one hand ran along the seams of the fingers of the other. “She’s happy that I made it this far. She’s been rooting for me.” 

“I’m glad it seems like you two became really good friends through the competition. She’s an amazing person, and even though she was one of the panelist connections, I’m glad she was on the show.” Rosanna set the datapad aside again, playfully mocking a pout as she folded her arms and propped her helm up as she leaned onto the side of her chair. “And she had the GALL to tell me she wasn’t going to be quitting her day job to start up music. The NERVE.”

The larger mech’s helm ducked with laughter at the drama Rosanna put forward. He looked at her with the same look he had during his last performance, and something about his shoulders got a little more relaxed. “She’s excited about the double paycheck she’s been getting this entire time though. I think she’ll probably be planning a real vacation in the future.” 

“Oh she thought this was a  _ vacation,  _ did she?” Rosanna replied with a laugh of faux incredulousness. “But no really, she absolutely should, she deserves it! This all is extremely hard work,  _ especially  _ if it’s not something you’re familiar with. She fooled me, that’s for sure!” She leaned forward, mock whispering as she raised a hand to partially shield her face. “You think I can still convince her to do karaoke nights?” 

“If you promise to buy her drinks and bring cute dancers.” The response came quick from the helicopter and he smiled at the hostess. Rager wasn’t here to defend herself, so she was going to be the butt of a couple jokes. 

“Okay, deal! I’ll make sure to tell Twirl she’s invited next time.” The femme’s shoulders slackened slightly in relief. She was happy to see that Glam had loosened up some with the banter.

“Alright, we’re ready to start again when you guys are good,” the crew announced. Rosanna’s posture perked up as she looked to Glam. “Are you ready to go?” She asked brightly, a warm smile on her face.

“Ready as I’m going to be.” His hands still fussed at each other out of nerves. The contestants didn’t know what questions they were going to be asked, so he hadn’t had the chance to prepare-- and from what Rosanna had seen of him, he didn’t seem to handle social surprises very well. Honestly, neither did Glit. He was always very private.

After a few brief exchanges between her and the film crew, filming started once more, and Rosanna slipped back into her role of playing hostess. “And we’re back on  _ Cybertron’s Brightest  _ with the show’s most mysterious and elusive singer, Glam!” She motioned at the helicopter opposite her with an open hand, the mech responding with a smile and a light wave at the camera. 

Rosanna leaned onto the arm of her chair, resting the weight of her frame on her propped elbow as she gestured at him with restrained enthusiasm. “You’re here, Glam! You’ve made it to the finals! How does it feel to be in the top three? I know it’s been a long journey from the first time you stepped out under the spotlight.”

Glam vented air as he took in what Rosanna had said. His optical ridges raised as he momentarily stared into the middle distance as he nodded, “Yeah, yeah it has. It feels good. I’ve had a lot riding on getting this far so it’s a big relief. Going to miss having Rager as a roommate though.” During past interviews Glam had also changed the subject to be about others so it wasn’t surprising to see him try that now--which is also a tactic Glit would use. 

“I know you two became really close over the course of the competition, and I bet she’s been a really fun roomie, too! I’m glad you two had the chance to meet, and I know she’s super happy for you.” She was going to have to be diligent about keeping things on track. “Now, it goes without saying that we all know your voice is amazing, you have a near inherent skill at performing and know how to dazzle people, so it’s no surprise to anyone that you made it this far. Inquiring minds must know, though, what is it that brought you to the stage of  _ Cybertron’s Brightest? _ ”

His optics still held that softness that they had found earlier when looking at her. “I made a promise a long time ago. It’s been an odd road, but I think I’m finally going to get to keep it.” Glam was still being vague. His optics went to the floor briefly as he thought, trying to decide if he wanted to say more. There was a flutter in Rosanna’s spark at his expression, and a continued warmth in her optics. 

“I think all of our roads have been pretty odd ones, to say the least. Pretty bumpy in places, too, but we’re here. I’m happy to hear you’re being able to keep your promise to someone, whatever or whoever that may be. I know they’re going to be happy for you.” She tilted her helm, trying to gauge his reaction. She wasn’t immediately sure what he might be referring to about a promise if he were Glit--those conversations between them happened such a very long time ago. 

Glam nodded and gave a moment for it to sink in. He seemed to withdraw more, his nervousness becoming apparent. A slight smile quirked briefly into existence. “I’m sure. It’ll be a big change for me and I’m looking forward to progressing. I’ve been stuck in a rut for a while.” There was hesitancy that was materializing in a mech that was normally so boisterous on stage. This interview was going to give the audience a longer, harder look at the singer than he usually allowed. 

Seeing his anxiety, Rosanna couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about asking him these questions, even though these were the standard ones she was asking all three of them. It was then that it dawned on her--if Glam was Glit, he would  _ hate  _ this. He would hate being sat down in front of a crew of cameras and being drilled about how he felt about being paraded in front of a crowd to entertain them. He would hate having to figure out how to discreetly confess his goals and motives while selling the idea that he was just as committed to winning this as the other participants. 

It wasn’t limited to just this interview. She needed to think about how Glit would have acted and felt throughout the competition. Glit would rather have run from the stage instead of waiting around for people to criticize or praise him after a performance, as Glam had done every chance he got. She remembered his anger directed at the fans and viewers, knowing Glit would have seethed at the idea of people adoring something  _ fake _ , something that wasn’t actually him while still living with the bias against his animalistic build. The only reason he would be here doing this competition was if it was for something absolutely  _ necessary _ , if it was something he absolutely  _ needed _ . He would hate this. He would hate  _ all  _ of this. 

Rosanna realized she had stalled in her speech, having been staring into the middle distance for a short period of time. Glam had leaned forward to look at her, an expectant and concerned expression on his face. “Uhm…” Rosanna started, before she turned to look at the cameras, making a motion with her hands to signal for the filming to stop. “Sorry, I think we just need a moment, guys,” she spoke. 

The crew waved it off without a problem, likely eager for the short break. Rosanna cycled air in a moment of relief.

“Sorry, Glam,” Rosanna apologized, her voice tight. 

“No, it wasn’t going well,” Glam laughed dismissively with a wave of his hand and a tight laugh of his own. 

“I think we might need to take a different approach to this.” She made the decision to treat this situation like she was dealing with Glit. There was no harm in that decision even  _ if  _ it wasn’t him. Rosanna reached over to the side table to grab the datapad and got to her pedes. “Would you be more comfortable with us reviewing the questions first?” 

The larger mech nodded. “It would help.” He moved to the edge of his seat which would allow for him to lean and interact more. “Believe it or not, I’m not bad at improvising in non-social situations.” Glam tried to jokingly smooth over how bad he’d done with the interview so far, which earned a light chuckle from Rosanna. 

“Yeah, I understand,” she replied. She moved to stand next to him, offering forward the datapad so they both could view the screen. They started moving through the different sets of questions she had prepared for him, changing the wording on some and requesting others to be skipped. The changes made it easier for him to be more prepared and better able to put forward a more positive response, and slight tweaks to choices of words. With the cameras switched off and Rosanna really the only one interacting with him, Glam became more relaxed. The rigidity in his shoulders slackened, and the lines on his face were softer. Something also loosened in her own chest. She likely should have done this from the start. 

“I think that about does it,” Rosanna stated with an apologetic smile and slightly inviting tilt of her helm. “You think you’d be good for giving it another go?” 

“Yeah,” Glam replied. His voice still had a reserved note but he seemed significantly more at ease than when they had been going through the questions cold. “Let’s try it.” He smiled at her and used the arms of his seat as leverage to shift backward. “Thank you.” His optics were visibly apologetic behind the yellow hued glass of his visor. 

“Of course.” Rosanna returned to her own seat, trying to tamp back down the swell of feeling in her chassis. She turned to the film crew, holding her arm up to wave at them. “I think we’re good to go for another take!” After a few moments of everyone getting back into place, the two singers were cued to restart the interview. They ran through the starting questions again, and there was immediate relief at the change of atmosphere. They fell into a natural rhythm, Glam was responsive and kept his attention more pointedly on Rosanna, as if actually ignoring the fact he was in a studio being filmed. That warm look again returned to his optics and it made her acutely aware of how soft his features were as he spoke to her, how he leaned onto the arm of his seat toward her as they went through the questions. 

Entering new territory, the ease of interview continued. She was forced to reference the datapad more now since it was noted that wording was very important. “I do have to wonder, have you always loved music?” She tilted her helm cutely. “You seem pretty comfortable on the stage.”

“Music has always been a part of my life. I was sparked with it, and it made people happy.” He looked a little distant as though he was remembering some other time. “I kept it with me throughout the war. I have to say I’m not exactly fond of being on stage. If I had to do the competition as me, I don’t think I would have.” 

“I may have gathered that a little,” Rosanna laughed. “I don’t think a lot of people would willingly go out on stage as just themselves--it’s scary! There’s something to say about the confidence anonymity can give us for sure, but even with a different face, it’s still putting yourself out there, and there’s a lot of bravery in that.”

He laughed quietly and his shoulders shook. A toothy grin found its place on his face. “I’ve lived through scarier.” It was a very matter of fact statement from the mech. 

Rosanna laughed again, the sound bleeding over into her words as she spoke. “Okay yeah, fair enough, fair enough!” She looked at the datapad again before resuming looking up at Glam. “It goes without saying that you have a lot of fans, and they’re really excited to see that you’ve made it this far. How has it been to have that following?”

“It’s had its ups and downs.” It was obvious with the rewording of this question Glam had given his answer some thought. “Some fans are great, but I’ve had some real winners. It’s actually made me stop interacting with the audience as much as I used to. A few bad crystals contaminate the cart, I guess. I don’t do what I’m doing for fan worship anyway.” He waved a hand as though to clear the air of the topic. The mech had gotten to say his piece. 

Rosanna nodded her helm. She distinctly remembered some clear examples of the harassment and “bad crystals” Glam was referring to. It was never easy to deal with people that felt entitled to your existence simply because you put yourself in the public eye, especially if you’re someone who was wanting to play up an “attractive” persona. “Working with fans can definitely come with its challenges, but it’s so good and so important that you haven’t let those bad experiences steer you away from why you’re doing this in the first place. At the end of the day, you’ve got to be here for you, be for that for love of music or for a promise, and I’m glad to know you’ve stuck to that.” 

She gestured at the datapad in her hand. “I do think that leads us into some of the submitted questions,” Rosanna chirped. “This first one is pretty popular, so I asked Windy and Jetsetter too, but--what’s your zodiac sign?”

Glam looked surprised even though he had seen the questions and a tiny bit of nervousness edged into his voice. “Yggdrasill. Though from how the fans seem to want to picture me if you took a poll, most would probably think I’m the ravenous Void.” He shot a playful, knowing look at the hostess.

Rosanna chuckled lightly, tilting her helm as her spirits were lifted even more. Glit and Glam’s signs matched up, too--perhaps unsurprisingly. “I had a sneaking suspicion you were Yggdrasill--and the ravenous Void is  _ much _ more my thing.” 

“What made you take that guess?” His voice had a hint of startlement. 

“Oh, just a hunch, really. I might know a few Yggdrasils here or there.” Rosanna replied dismissively with a clear, mildly mischievous grin on her face. A couple of the crew mechs rolled their optics. “Anywho, next question! What’s your favorite song you’ve performed so far on the show?”

“That’s a bit of a loaded question right now.” Glam gave her a very pointed look as that wasn’t a question that had been on the list. 

“I don’t know, is it?” Rosanna leveled her gaze at him with a challenging look, cutely and deliberately bobbing one of her pedes. The helicopter continued to look at her as she knew full well where that line of questioning would go. “We can skip this one,” Rosanna conceded, looking back to the datapad. “I can be nice.” 

Rosanna scrolled down to a particular prompt she had been eager for. “Okay now--and you can choose to skip this question if you’d like, but did you want the opportunity to address the rumors that have been circling about your occupation?” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her knuckles as she awaited his response with a small smile. 

Glam immediately laughed and a grin stretched out on his face like a cat settling into a sunny spot. “Yeah, I want that opportunity.” He shifted in his chair, sitting up straighter. 

“The floor’s all yours,” Rosanna gestured to him with an open palm. 

He turned his torso to face the camera a bit better. “Ah Armorhide, thank you for this.” There was an edge of annoyance in his tone when he referenced the eliminated contestant. “So to start I’m not confirming or denying. There is no problem with ‘facing work, only people who are judgy and disrespectful, like certain comedians. I  _ will  _ say the goal of my job is to make people feel better. I get paid to touch people. My job  _ does _ involve sticking my servos in peoples’ seams and getting under their plating. My job  _ can  _ have odd hours. I’ve crawled on top of people to do my work. I’ve done my work laying on my back with my legs up. I’ve been covered in lubricant because of my job. I’ve done my job in an alley, and on someone’s galley table. Not all of my work ends happily, but let me tell you there is an immense amount of relief when it does.” His tone through the lecture moved into joking. “So I think I ran through the good jokes on the topic, so hopefully he won't have any material.” He turned to the pink femme with a big grin. “Thanks for that.” 

Rosanna had covered her mouth with her fist, trying desperately hard not to burst into laughter. He had to be talking about medic work--he had to be, which  _ only  _ made all the jokes even funnier to her. “You’re so very welcome,” Rosanna replied, her voice pitched high in her failing attempts to stifle her laughs. He was passionate about what he did. He always had been. 

“Well, at this point I would ask you why you want to win or what it would mean to you, but I think you’ve pretty much covered both of those questions for us. So I suppose that leaves us with, well, a sendoff!” Rosanna gestured and extended her arm out to him, her palm up. “Is there anything you want to say to your fans?”

Glam nodded. “Yeah, I can think of something.” Like the other contestants had, he moved to face the camera. “Thanks for your support this long. I need to thank you for your help in keeping this promise. I literally couldn’t do it on my own.” The last sentence had a tinge of tiredness that found purchase on the words. “Every chance I’ve gotten during this competition I’ve tried to pull people up with me, my dancers, the stage crew, the choreographers, and even the other contestants. I am at the end of this contest with two other wonderful, good people. I’m not going to say I deserve this anymore then they do.” He shook his helm. Sincerity bled from his tone, and Rosanna’s expression softened as she watched him speak. “Go through life pulling people up. That’s how we are all going to move forward.” Glam’s focus was distinctly on the camera and the audience that would be watching this. He held himself with a fierce certainty. His gold optics released their lock on the camera and he turned back to Rosanna with a small smile. 

It was him. It had to be.The femme had to swallow the swell of emotion that rose in her throat, and desperately fight to keep her optical fluid from starting to singe. All Rosanna needed was one good, solid conversation to know with absolute certainty that this white and blue mech sitting across from her was Glit. Thinking about it, the fact that it only took sitting for less than an hour and having him answer generalized questions for her to figure with damn near certainty it was him was probably one of the reasons he had avoided her for most of the competition. He couldn’t risk her accidentally revealing his identity and getting him disqualified if he was here for something important. She knew it was him, and there was nothing she could do about that fact right now; she couldn’t even react.

_ It was him. _ A warm smile spread across her face, and she tilted her helm at Glam. Cameras be damned, she couldn’t hide her emotion entirely. “Thank you, Glam. That’s a beautiful message. And thank you for coming on and giving our viewers a chance to get to know you a little bit more.” She paused for a brief moment as she cycled air. “So I think that leaves us with one last, very important question.” She set the datapad down and leaned forward in her seat, resting her chin in the palm of her hand as she looked very intently at Glam from behind her visor. “Are you looking forward to performing with me?” 

He met her optics and then almost in a shy manner looked away. Just after his confidence he seemed flustered to find something to say. “You’ve been wanting on stage with me since ‘The Greatest Show’”.

Rosanna laughed and her smile spread into a toothy grin across her face. “Before that, even.” She replied with humor. “I’m excited for it. I think it’ll be something to remember.” She looked at him another moment longer before straightening her posture and turning to look at the camera. “And that’s our last contestant here on  _ Cybertron’s Brightest _ ! We’ll see you all in the grand finale--and with that, let’s take it to Rocksteady. Goodbye everyone!” 

The tone chimed that gave them the signal that filming had stopped, and the crew began their post-film shuffling. “GET A ROOM!” One of the sound-crew yelled from the back of the room, followed by rolling laughter from everyone else. Rosanna momentarily ducked her helm and partially shielded her visor as she felt a blush creep across her face. She was hoping the tension wouldn’t have been that obvious, but that was never something she was very good at masking. An audible sigh escaped her.

“Alright. That’s a wrap!”


	17. Some Kind of Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features "Some Kind of Disaster" by All Time Low.
> 
> It was a song that was very much an inspiration for writing Glit throughout the fic. Just for a little fun fact, "Heart to Break" by Kim Petras was a song I very, VERY much had on loop when I wanted to write for Rosanna, haha. Hope you enjoy the chapter this week!

Rosanna was consumed with her thoughts for the rest of the day. Needing time to herself, she messaged Windy, Jetsetter, and Glam that she would be in touch with them about planning duets after the performances with this next round, which was still a few days out. It would make sure they didn’t become distracted from their current focus and pile on more stress. Even though the three of them knew they were safe from elimination, they still needed to perform to the best of their ability to keep up momentum into the finale. 

The femme wanted to get home as soon as she could, needing time to go over everything that was tumbling through her mind. She kept herself collected and chipper on the way home so as to not worry Roughstuff, who had been aware she was going to be interviewing the last three contestants and had expressed his concern beforehand. There’d be a chance to talk to him after she knew exactly what was going on with the Glam situation, but right now, she needed to be alone.

Rosanna shut the door to her apartment, leaning her back heavily against the large surface as she stared down at the floor in thought. She was almost absolutely sure she had just been sitting down and talking with Glit, but she didn’t want to leave room for _any_ doubt moving forward. She needed to know for sure, and there was one way for her to do that. It was something she had been avoiding resorting to, but it seemed like now she didn’t have much choice. It was the last puzzle piece she needed in the portrait Glam had painted, unwittingly or not. 

She walked into her apartment, late afternoon light still filtering in through the large windows opposite the entrance catching on dust motes. Her living space, much to her visitor’s surprise, wasn’t anything especially large or extravagant like typically expected of a pop star. She hadn’t had many visitors during her time on _Cybertron’s Brightest_ , and the apartment very much had the feeling of quiet, almost disuse, that reflected that. She stopped in her galley to grab a small glass of energon before she went to her room, the door quietly sliding shut behind her.

In a small box in her storage closet she kept an inconspicuous external drive, colored pink and decorated with hearts to match. It was a cultural oddity for a datastick to keep external storage, but there were occasional reasons why someone might run into the need to keep certain things outside of their person. For Rosanna, the small device acted as a deposit of various videos, audio files, photos and articles of a select array of people. This was the device she used to store things that were too painful for her to keep on her, but too important to let go entirely. 

Rosanna pressed the button to open the door to the closet, grabbing a stool to step up to reach what she sought. Her hand gained purchase on the container, and she gingerly slid it over the edge of the shelf. She brushed off the layer of dust that had accumulated on the surface as she stared at the box in her hands, taking a moment to cycle air and prepare herself. Every single person that was on the device was someone she had once been close to, and all of them she knew to be either dead or missing. In a way, the device was her own personal graveyard--a small device holding memories and remnants of those she once held dear. She kept them away and out of herself to keep the memories safe, but to mainly avoid the temptation of referencing them and rekindling those feelings of grief. 

Depositing those files of Glit had felt like tearing a part of herself from her frame the day she made the decision to put them away. It was her way of trying to move on. She had spent so long trying to find the trail of the Decepticon medic after they parted. She tried to take every scrap of information she could get, which were seldom at best, but eventually, she stopped hearing anything altogether. At that point, she could only assume the worst, or hope he had found somewhere to be in the universe that was safe and far away from those that would do him harm. 

After the war ended, the Department of Census and Return ran a program that kept track of and recorded the fates of individuals, and if they were on Cybertron, or still reported missing. Rosanna never went to or contacted the department--she had always been afraid to know the answer. It was becoming growingly evident as she grasped at fleeting clues from the contestant hoping it was Glit, with how terribly passionate she still felt about him, that she owed it to herself to find out what happened to the mech. She knew now she very desperately needed an answer. She needed closure. If Glam turned out to be someone else, she would go to the Census and learn about what happened to Glit.

If he had died, then she would know for sure. He was gone. Rosanna could close the cover to that book and, perhaps, actually allow herself to properly mourn and remember him. If he was on Cybertron, she would try to find and get in contact with him somehow. If he was still counted as missing, all she could do was hope for the best, and prompt the department to contact her if that ever changed. It was better than letting her love for him sit buried inside a dusty box.

There were times she briefly contemplated why she hadn’t asked him to stay back then on that Autobot base. She had loved him so much. She knew he would have if she asked it of him, and that’s very much why she didn’t. Glit was one of the few medics that claimed themselves to the Decepticon cause. When the time came to choose sides, most doctors and physicians aligned with the Autobots or scattered to the winds avoiding the inherent moral dilemmas that were sure to come, leaving very few trained and skilled people to aid the injured on the other side.

It wasn’t that people didn’t learn how to do repairs, and engineers were often grabbed to fill the role, but those that held the extensive knowledge and compassion necessary were few and far between among the ranks of the Decepticons. If Glit hadn’t been a Decepticon, he had once argued, so many people would have died. His morals were clear on the idea. People on both sides needed care, even if other medics didn’t necessarily see it that way. She wasn’t going to ask him to compromise his morals for something selfish. Looking back, she still would have made the same choice--it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, or that she wished things could have been different, or that she hadn’t missed him. It meant she knew her decision was right.

The small femme moved away from the closet and moved to sit on her berth. She very deliberately set the box aside and freed the latches that kept it shut, revealing the rectangular pink external she hadn’t seen in years. She picked the device up between her thumb and forefinger, staring it down with a burning intensity, as if expecting it to speak. With a final cycling of air she lifted her free wrist, opening a slot that accepted the drive with an audible ‘click’.

It had been so long since she last looked at this archive. The femme quietly scrolled through the list of names and data trees until she stopped at the folder containing Glit’s name. She hadn’t seen his face or heard his laughter in so long. She continued to hover over the name, waiting. After a long, deep cycling of air and a summoning of courage, she opened the folder to display the contents inside. 

Rosanna had always deeply regretted not taking more photos of Glit while they were together. He was always camera shy and would get too nervous to speak when he knew she was recording him, so she had refrained for the sake of his comfort. She had a few pictures she managed to sneak, and a single surviving audio clip she secretly recorded while they were practicing a song together. It was this audio file, she knew, that would confirm or deny Glam’s identity. She was just speaking with the mech earlier that day, and she had clips from the show to compare against Glit’s voice if she had to--but she knew she just had to hear it, and she would know. The time for what-ifs and maybes was coming to end. She had to know, and with no small amount of trepidation caught between her spark and her throat, she set it to play. 

_“Alright, I’m recording!” Her voice started out the audio file. “I think we got it this time. Go ahead!”_

_Glit’s laughter chimed, and he tried to start singing again. He stopped and started several times, laughter breaking into his voice with each attempt, the notes warbly and restrained._

_“Just pretend it’s not going, you’re doing fine!” Rosanna interjected, a smile coloring her voice._

_“I’m not sure if I can pretend that hard.” He was closer to her as his volume increased on the feed. His ability to produce solid notes failed him as it was clear from his tone that embarrassment at being recorded had taken over. “I- I don’t think I can do this Rosie.”_

_Rosanna let out an exasperated and playfully dramatic sigh. “Ohhh, fine, I’ll turn it off. There.” The recording, however, continued. “Okay, okay, now you’re good. Wanna give it another go? I’ll join in this time!”_

_There was a pause in the record and an audible venting of air as Glit settled his nerves. “I’m good to go when you are.”_

_Rosanna laughed. “Alright, together then, on three. One, two--three!” The two started singing, their voices easily harmonizing from practice. Glit’s voice carried strength and confidence in his notes, no longer deterred by stage fright. They went on for a good portion of the song--right up until the part they were still working on, and they started jumbling their words and devolving into a shared fit of noises and giggles. There was a muffled, snuffling-shuffling of noise up close to the mic, which Rosanna remembered to be Glit nuzzling and burrowing his face into her neck, rewarding him with a delighted shriek of a laugh._

The recording was cut off after that, and that was it.

Rosanna was in tears. Her optic filament trailed down her face, her shoulders shaking as she quietly sobbed into her hands. It was him. It was Glit. After all these years he had stumbled back into her life in a weirdly similar way to how he had the first time. She was sure of it to her core and in only a few short weeks he was going to be officially revealed. 

* * *

It was one of the first times in the competition that he would be able to perform without the pressure of elimination hanging over him. Practice so far had been oddly comfortable, even though he’d gotten a slow start this week actually working on stage. He memorized the song quickly, but when it came to providing any input on stage production, Glam’s processor initially drew a blank. The ideas started to come as he settled down for recharge with the music still going over his internal comms. Glam laid on his berth for several nights and allowed the concept to mature. 

After the interview he finally felt confident in his ideas. The helicopter mech didn’t need this to be grandiose or showy, but there was an urge for it to still have an emotional pull. It was one of the things he liked about music. The song he’d picked was just as much about showing how he felt as much as it was about telling. The song aligned with moments of his life conspicuously well. A smile dragged up the corner of his mouth. If he could use the song to snap people into realizing how much he was like them, it’d be worth putting himself on display a bit--or at least that's what he tried to convince himself of. 

There was something else that also started to take shape throughout the week; how much he didn’t actually want to win. Windy, in his mind, was the winner already, and whether she knew that or not wasn’t something he cared about. He knew going into this he wasn’t going to win, but he wasn’t sure if he even cared about getting second place. There was no interest from him in making a career out of putting himself on show, so he didn’t need the exposure. There was a part of him that hated the concept of being put on display for the entertainment of others, which made him distinctly disjointed with the whole competition in comparison to Windy and Jetsetter.

There was a difference in the prize winnings for second and third place. He had initially told himself that getting second would be better for the clinic, but after getting to know Jetsetter as he did, he knew the MTO deserved anything that could be given to him. Glam would have his dream, but the younger mech needed this win to pursue his own. Having to work a little harder to get his clinic together was worth that kid getting his dream. Glam was going to continue to put the effort forward for the last few performances, but perhaps just not as much as he could have.

With a shake of his helm, Glam tried to refocus. It was the end of the week already and they had moved out of the practice room and onto the main stage. Practicing here gave everyone in the crew the chance to work out any last minute bugs with the placement of the holograms which the editing and film teams had worked hard on over the last few days. He was relying on them heavily this week, and they only truly had a few more hours left to work out any problems. 

He was the only one on stage for this performance. There were no dancers that he had to worry about bumping into. The projectors for the holograms were small floating spheres that buzzed around the stage to their programmed positions and a small location chip tacked onto his frame with a magnet made them swerve around him. It was just him, the song, and timing with the visuals. It was a requirement for him to hit his marks or else the holograms would appear too early or too late and the effect would almost turn grossly comedic. 

He had never experienced exactly how useful a visor could be until he’d given himself one during this competition. The additional heads-up display space allowed for the marks to be transposed onto the stage where he was looking, and without the visor, they may have actually had to physically mark the stage floor. The signal was sent and the music started up. Per usual, the start of the song was looped to give everyone just a bit more warning.

_I'm a liar, I'm a cynic_

_I'm a sinner, I'm a saint_

_I'm a loser, I'm a critic_

_I'm the ghost of my mistakes_

He walked along the front of the stage as he sang. Holographic images of him held their places and poses mid-stride at each description of him, until seven holograms of Glam lined the front of the stage. 

_And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want_

_What are you after?_

_Some kind of disaster, yeah_

It had been a process to do the filming needed for each hologram, but it was coming together. There had been a lot of filming once he’d gotten the idea out of his processor and into the world. As he hit the word ‘one’ the hologram ghosts dissipated, leaving him the sole brilliant figure on the stage to declare himself a ‘disaster’, only to be plunged into darkness shortly after. 

_I woke up from a never-ending dream_

_I shut my eyes at seventeen_

_I lost every moment in between_

_I felt the sun rise up and swallow me, yeah_

Glam got to take his time crossing the dark stage, singing out of sight as ghosts of him in various poses drinking and stumbling appeared. It was more comfortable to show people what brand of disaster he was rather than to tell them. He, after all, hadn’t had a problem letting the world see him this way as he had lived it for millennia. There were holograms that flickered into existence of him being helped to walk by vague shapes of bots, or passed out in various positions. He wouldn’t have made it through the war if it wasn’t for those who, out of self-preservation, had grabbed the passed out medic for later use, or from people genuinely caring for his well-being and helping him along. Glam knew that he hadn’t made it this far on his own. 

_And it's all my fault that I'm still the_ **_one_ ** _you want_

As easily as they were summoned, the holograms vanished and he was illuminated, standing alone on the stage once more. It seemed the word ‘one’ had been given a magical quality during the song that brought him back into reality again as the main focus. As soon as he had appeared, he was gone again as he was plunged back into darkness. Various images of him surrounded by wispy, nondescript silhouettes of people popped up around the stage. The holograms displayed brief snippets of moments recreated for the audience while Glam made his way across the darkened area of stage. 

_I crashed down from a high that felt so real_

_I never knew how much it would hurt to feel_

_You gotta hurt sometimes to learn to heal_

He sang as he looked at the different scenes brought back to life. He was helping pull someone else up from the ground. He was sitting next to the form of a larger mech laid out on his back that he knew to be a patient. There was an image of him getting slammed into an invisible wall-- which he reminded himself had actually been fun to film, but in real life had been a potential patient explosively refusing his care due to his felinoid frame-type. Another hologram had Glam yelling silently at a mech representing a battle commander that wanted his battered team to fight and die instead of taking the rest they desperately needed. In that memory-turned hologram, he held his arms outstretched, being a seemingly immovable force that kept the unreasonable at bay from the wisps of figures that had been the team behind him in varying states of damage and disablement. The image drew forward from back then the feel of his claws against the metal plating of the floor. It had been one of the few times he’d ever deliberately extended them and thus had been an easy moment to reference for its uniqueness.  
  


Glam’s only hope was that in his moments of awareness during the war he saved as many people to equal the amount that had carried him through to the finish line. If he hadn’t managed to--now, after everything, he could make up for it with his clinic. The real Glam had gotten to his mark and he ex-vented as he lowered himself onto his back on the stage.

_You gotta get back up and learn to deal, yeah_

When he became illuminated he sang while laying on the ground before standing up, some of the crew whooping at him as the pose and image had the desired effect.

_And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want_

The song found its pattern again in the chorus as he told the world what he was. The metered walk at the front of the stage generated the liar, the cynic, the sinner, the saint, the critic, and the ghost as he passed through his marks. There was power in dispelling the figures as he became the focus. It was clear that as he made his way through the song he became more confident in owning the disaster he was each time. 

_Well I've sung this song a thousand times_

_I wore the crown, I sold the lie_

_I lived the life and paid for every crime, yeah_

Earlier visual recordings of him in this competition were pulled for a couple of the holograms, including the moment in which he mimed crowning himself in ‘The Greatest Show’. There was a recreation of him getting fired from his last job which was a moment that still had him feeling raw in spots. 

_It's all downhill 'til it's a climb_

_Through blood and tears, but I don't mind_

_I'll just keep singing on and on and on_

There flashed a moment of him having to drunkenly pull himself up from behind the bar at his old haunt, another of him standing in a pink-hued puddle with crackling optics--which was about as much as the studio censor board would allow for that imagery, apparently. Day-to-day snippets of life flashed by in which his mouth moved to show him singing along with the lyrics. 

_And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want_

He was again illuminated at the front of the stage, but this time his optics landed on the empty panelist box. He was baring this to _her_ as well. Rosanna would see this, but he had no idea if it’d jog any memory of him. Thankfully the stage would end on black and he’d have time to scurry away to avoid another mishap like last time. He wasn’t going to be eliminated, so it wasn’t as though he had to stick around to deal with the critiques. He would stay in the lounge for Rager’s reveal, though. It was the least he could do for her since she’d been so supportive during the competition. 

_'Cause I'm a liar, I'm a cynic_

_I'm a sinner, I'm a saint_

_I'm a loser, I'm a critic_

_I'm the ghost of my mistakes_

At the end of the song it had built up. This time more, and more holographic ghosts filled the space with their memory--his memory, but he was standing amidst them and also some new memories all in full view. So much of his life had been lost to engex haze, or was unusable to be shown because it alluded too much to his profession. When it came to pulling more moments to display he included the ones with Rosanna, though her exact image was removed, leaving him with a wispy figure sweetly held against him as he sat, dancing next to him, or laying beside him and reaching out to pet his face. He took Rager’s suggestion to spark, though, and he didn’t plan to sing directly at her. Glam just wanted the chance to show that he remembered. He remembered every tender moment, every soft look. 

_And it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want_

_Yeah it's all my fault that I'm still the one you want_

All the stage was abuzz with movement. It was hard to truly isolate any one moment being displayed. This time the one word command didn’t make the past disappear--the images faded slightly making his undimmed form the focus in the center of the chaos. No matter how much he could’ve tried to leave these moments, they were here with him.

_So what are you after?_

_Some kind of disaster._

Those memories were a part of him. They were _this_ disaster, and if he wanted her, she would have to accept them too. The future would be better, and he hoped with all his being Rosanna could be a part of it. He held the last word of the song, and the stage lights cut a millisecond after he dropped the note.

The crew cheered and hollered joyously as the lights came back on. They started to reset for another run. The projectors zipped around him, and Glam felt disoriented, looking around dumbly as he tried to grasp onto and pull himself back into the present. He smiled softly to himself, shaking his helm. He tried to cleanse the feeling from his chest with a deliberate draw of air. He had been holding onto and living by Rosanna’s words from back then for so long, that he just had to _“make it through this.”_ Maybe after this competition he’d be done just surviving, just making it. Maybe, after this competition, he’d be able to live without having to push himself to do so. Maybe, he’d be ready for that. 

* * *

Roadrage was deviously delighted with how the reveal went. She was in good spirits backstage, recounting the look on Crosscut’s face as her own was displayed when the audition reel began to play on the large screens. She recognized the tell-tale sign of his jaw dropping behind his mask as he realized he had failed to recognize her _this entire time_. Rosanna herself was sharing in the smug delight from the femme, not entirely surprised her fellow panelist failed to recognize someone he knew so closely. Rager’s voice shouting “It’s me, you dense old cocky son-of-a-glitch!” at Crosscut from the stage still seemed to echo in her laughter back in the lounge. 

The large femme downed a couple engex cocktails and was ready to party. Crosscut, to Rosanna’s surprise, was actually pretty sociable when Roadrage was there to temper his haughtiness, the mech actually managing to joke and be conversational with everyone. The two had served together in the diplomatic corps for so long that they knew what to expect out of the other, falling into a comfortable routine in each other’s presence. It drew a question on if maybe the diplomat’s success hadn’t been from just his abilities, but also from his bodyguard smoothing over the rougher edges of his personality.

The silver and red mech nursed his engex and took the ribbing from Roadrage well enough. It was obvious his pride had scuffed knees, but all would be well eventually. “Well, it’s not _my_ fault you never let me in on the secret. How was I supposed to know you were so talented with music?” 

“You wouldn’t have believed me anyway if I told you. I told you the civvies on Ceti-4 taught me poetry, and you started off that they ‘wouldn’t know poetry if you gave it to them in a gilded case’. Or how about the song language on Eridani-3 that I had to learn, hmm, _HMMM_?” The truckformer smiled as Crosscut waved a hand at her to signal he’d rather not go there. For as gruff as she could be, it only took a few moments for her to fall into talking with anyone, and that hadn’t been a detriment to her work as a bodyguard. To Rosanna, it actually made a lot of sense.

“I miss being sleek though. Can’t wait to get outta this frame. I keep hitting slag with this shelf.” She gestured at the grill and bumper assembly on her chest, and playful turned her torso sharply to indicate the hazard she had been living with. “However, it does give me a place to set my drink when I need my hand free for a second.” Roadrage demonstrated and then did jazz hands to showcase the display, earning a round of laughter from everyone.

Rosanna was going to miss Roadrage’s presence for sure. Performance night went by in a blur for everyone without the worry of who was going to stay or go home. Roadrage had been _extremely_ relaxed in her own performance, making her best attempt to make it seem like her leaving was a little less staged than it was. Both Windy and Jetsetter had a blast in singing their songs, but Glam had taken this as an opportunity to reveal more about his past and personality without worry of the penalty it would have with the audience.

The helicopter mech was currently skirting the edges of the gathering around Roadrage, wanting to be there for his friend, but obviously feeling unsure and looking eager to depart at the first opportunity. His performance tonight had been a display of vulnerability he hadn’t put forward yet in the competition, and it was distinctly memorable and striking to watch. He gave hints and vague outlines at the traumas and hardships of his past, and it made Rosanna’s spark ache at the not-so-subtle hints of substance abuse, and what _she_ knew to be his experiences of a wartime medic. The visuals of the form that was shown alongside Glam near the end made the filament at the corners of her optics singe, which she thankfully was able to write off as her generally being emotional at the nature of the song when the critiquing began. 

With her emotions so close to the surface, however, it shortened her patience with Sundor and caused her rarely seen temper to flare. The statement that “This wasn’t the place to air his trauma,” and that “People are here to have a good time” sent her into a rant in the panelist box, one neither Jazz nor Crosscut were eager to stop, the ex-special ops mech actually pleased and mildly entertained to see the femme go off on the large seeker. Music isn’t just for entertainment or for lifting people up. It’s also a way to convey someone’s experiences and feelings, and to create something others can empathize with and relate to. To negatively call someone out for their attempt at being vocal about their personal experiences was something Rosanna couldn’t tolerate, and she didn’t want that criticism to be seen as anywhere _remotely_ acceptable in the industry. 

Rosanna was jogged from her momentary relapse in anger as Jetsetter’s voice cut through her thoughts, dissipating the feeling and rejoining her with the conversation. 

“So wait, you’re actually _smaller?_ But you practically _radiate_ big truck energy!” 

Roadrage’s laugh was loud. She smiled at the shorter flyer. “Too bad you aren’t a femme, Jet, cause you’re cute.” The truckformer jovially bumped into Jetsetter and the mech ducked his helm sheepishly. There was a quietness to Windy amid the commotion, as though her place in the finale had sunk in. She was there and she was happy, but there was a deep calm that laid on the racing build like a blanket. A lot of the constant thrum of energy she typically pushed to exude wasn’t present as she, to Rosanna’s relief, was giving herself a moment to vent. 

After milling around at the edges for sometime, and when he thought Roadrage was suitably distracted, Glam went to the door of the lounge. It was obvious that he was taking his chance to quietly duck out. He gave a small wave to the group, but the door actually opening alerted everyone to his exit. 

“You leaving already?” The truckformer questioned, Roadrage obviously wanting him to stay longer. 

“It’s been a day Rager. Anyway, I know where you recharge.” The white and blue mech tried to make a joke and point out that they’d see each other later. Rosanna’s attention was refocused on Glam as his voice was added to the mix. The femme had been doing her best to give him space, despite every bit of her wanting to take the mech aside to try to talk to him and demand the answers she felt she was owed.

There were only two weeks left in the competition. Between then and now she was going to be sharing a lot of time with him one-on-one in practicing for their duet. There was a part of her that said she needed to continue to keep her cool, to play dumb and wait until the end when he would be revealed. There was also the part of her that feared if she didn’t say anything to him, that if she didn’t have a confrontation before his reveal, that he would somehow slip through the cracks and disappear out of her life again. The fear that crept into her chassis at that thought gripped at her spark, and she had a rising feeling she knew she wouldn’t be able to make it to the end without knowing. She didn’t know how it was going to happen, or how she was going to go about asking, but it was _going_ to happen. 

“Oh, come on. Haven’t you done enough sneaking off?” The femme called him out. It wasn’t even polite. 

“We’ll hang out tomorrow. Anyway, I need to make a call.” His rotors flared in a way that gave away his nervousness. He smiled and gave another wave to the group. “Have a good night, everyone!” 

Rosanna shot Glam a look while he was idling in the doorway, briefly catching his optic. She didn’t know exactly what her expression looked like, but she knew the feelings of sadness, of love, anger and hope she felt in her spark came to the surface in that moment. Whatever expression manifested on her features sent Glam practically scrambling the rest of the way out of the room.

“You alright, Rosanna?” Windy’s voice grabbed her attention, her features softening as she changed her focus.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ll be alright.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the final flashback chapter, when Rosanna and Glit had to say their goodbyes... 
> 
> Have a good one, folks. It's been rough, but we hope this fic has been able to bring some amount of joy to our readers.


	18. A Long, Long Time Ago Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last of the flash back chapters, this is the scene of their parting.

Clipper stood up from her seat. Her hand was on the side of her helm controlling the volume of the comm input as she continued to listen. The base commander trusted her skills in coding high security transmissions, but this was just too much to keep to quiet about. It took a moment to collect herself, to really take in the gravity of the announcement she was about to make. She took air deep into her systems. “The Decepticons are pulling out of the sector.” She spoke with an air of authority that grabbed everyone’s attention. 

Besides the pings of consoles and the chatter of halves of abandoned conversations, the room was silent. That quiet was soon shattered as the communications team cheered. A pair latched onto each other, laughing. Some were quickly spreading the message to their amicas or starting to draft messages to be sent out to other bases. A noisy mech with large audio antennas reached into his desk and retrieved a bottle of engex that he’d been saving for when they’d won this sector, and started to dole it out. 

“We did it!” Rosanna cheered with her team. “We  _ did  _ it!” Over the last few weeks, the plasma storm finally began to reach its end, meaning communications from the rest of the sector began to filter through--and apparently revealed to them a great victory for their side. She turned to Clipper with a beaming smile, who appeared to have once again focused back in on her comms with a concentrated expression. She then moved across the room to speak to another mech, who nodded, and began his own work in response. With an announcement like this, they all had some work to do--but for once, it was for celebration rather than crisis. 

She approached Rosanna, who gestured at her console. “I’m pretty sure we have an announcement to draft up,” the smaller femme exclaimed, her visor bright with eagerness. 

Clipper nodded with a slightly subdued smile. “We do.” 

Rosanna eagerly turned to her screens, making room for them both so Clipper could assist with providing the information she would need. “Give me the details!” 

The taller femme nodded, looking at the screen in anticipation for Rosanna to type. “As of this time today the Decepticons are pulling out of the sector. And, once we get confirmation that the proceedings went without incident, we will be welcoming back five Autobots as a result of a successful prisoner exchange.” 

Rosanna tilted her helm slightly at the femme. “Prisoner exchange? Clipper, we don’t have any prisoners on base.” She was still smiling, and it was spoken with a small, uneasy laugh.    
  


Clipper looked at her with an uncomfortable, knowing look, but didn’t respond as silence fell between the two. The elated swell of cheer and relief in Rosanna’s spark sputtered, and then plummeted into her tanks at the realization and understanding of what was being said. She was talking about Glit. Glit was going to be used as a bargaining chip to get back some of their soldiers. A certain brightness left her frame and the optics behind her visor dimmed. “When is it happening?” 

“They’re gathering a security team and prepping the transport with him now. I… I don’t think you’re going to have the chance to meet with him. They’re moving fast on this. I’m sorry, Rosanna.” Clipper gently put a hand on the pink femme’s shoulder. 

Rosanna quietly cycled air, her frame rigid and still before she shook her head in acknowledgement. The words were painful. “Glit and I knew this was going to happen eventually when the storm started letting up. But we…” She quietly trailed off. “I’m going to step out for a moment to give him a message. I’ll be back in to start working on this, okay? I won’t be long.” She pushed herself to her feet, Clipper giving a light push of encouragement to her shoulder to urge Rosanna towards the hallway door for her moment of privacy. It was no secret to anyone on base that the two were sweet for each other, and the femme truly regretted having to have been the one to deliver the news they would have to part ways.

Leaving behind the clamor and commotion of celebration back in the communications room, Rosanna ducked out into the hall and walked a short distance away to further distance herself from the noise. She wanted so badly to be happy right now--the victory meant so much for everyone on base, and to her, but it was a difficult emotion to manage with the message she was about to send, and knowing this was goodbye. 

She would have to manage, though. When she went back in there--and moving forward--she would have to continue to put on the best face and voice she could. For everyone’s sake, and for her own, too. But this moment here, right now, was for herself. It was a moment of sadness and grief and whole-hearted affection she could allow.

She leaned against the hallway wall, deeply cycling air as she lifted her hand to the side of her helm, engaging her internal comms to contact Glit--who unsurprisingly didn’t respond to the ping if he was being prepped for departure, leaving her to part ways with a message. She cycled air again, steeling herself before she started to speak. She didn’t want to give him a message where it sounded like she was about to cry, but she poured her spark into the words.

“I know we don’t have the chance for proper goodbyes, and I’m sorry for that. We both knew this was going to happen eventually, I just wish… I just wish we had more time. Glit, thank you--for everything. I’m so, so happy I met you, and I really honestly wish you could stay. But you have to keep on being you, and being all that you are.” She laughed lightly and she smiled, her voice thick with emotion. “Wherever you go, please… just make it through this. I’ll see you then, Glitty-kitty.” 

Rosanna closed her comms, cycling air deeply again to calm herself, and hold back the filament that threatened to spill at the corners of her optics. She didn’t have time for that right now. She’d have time to cry later. After she felt she had collected herself enough, she turned to walk down the hallway again to return to communications, and to work on the announcement that would send the whole base into an uproar of celebration for days to come.

* * *

Everything was happening quickly. It was a scramble, but Glit was used to scrambling. His existence as a field medic was 80% scrambling and 20% recharge and miscellaneous activities. The base commander’s voice was even and calm as he relayed the plan to Glit over comms. At the start of the call the feline build went into the medbay storeroom and started nicking bits that were hard to come by on his side of the fence. He was jamming them into his kits. It wasn’t like he had room for everything he was going to need, but taking what he could meant the difference between life and death for several mechs. 

He had thought about it before, but subspace storage was a miracle. Without it he wouldn’t have been able to steal nearly as much. He was distinctly aware that even miracles had limits, and he was already starting to hit the ceiling on it. The base medics graciously turned a blind optic as he grabbed for the supplies. He was going to need those parts far worse than they were in the near future. Although no formal announcement had been made over the base system, word was getting around about the change in control of the sector.

The cassette had been quick to agree to be traded back to his side. It only made sense. In his place there would be five Autobots coming home alive to those that cared about them, and he’d ship out to who knows where, but he’d be where he was most needed. It’s not the first time he’d been used in a swap and it probably wasn’t going to be the last. It wasn’t likely going to endear him to the leadership of his side, but it had been a long time since anyone resembling Decepticon leadership had liked him anyway. The Decepticons didn’t have the doctors to spare so leadership would deal with it, just like they always had so far. 

At this point Glit was pretty sure some low-level commanders were under the impression he let himself be captured and that he was an Autobot agent to assist the Autobots in getting their soldiers back. Glit could not roll his optics any harder. If that were the case, he wouldn’t  _ be  _ returning to the Decepticons. His thoughts drowned out the Autobot base commander and staff that were still talking through the plan. If that were the case, if he  _ was _ a spy for the Autobots, why wouldn’t he stay for more rest, better fuel, maybe another song? His paws stopped as his thoughts wandered to Rosanna. He shuttered his optics and steadied himself. His morals were bigger than him, and people needed him. 

The cassette turned back to his pilfering as a distraction. He managed to find one more bag of line crimps. He focused on them and their simplicity. They were some of the most basic of essential items; crimps were small rings of thin metal, coated to deter them from creating a spark when compressed on a broken line to prevent bleed out. Their race was remarkably durable, but bleed out was the real threat when in the field. They could survive the vacuum of space and temperatures most organic races would consider extreme, along with higher levels of radiation. Their frames could be ripped apart into pieces and put back together again as long as you had the core components intact-- and yet, somehow, people still managed to die in this war. The brutality of their conflict was staggering. 

The security team showed up at the medbay as he was squeezing that last bag into his left-mounted kit. Coming out of the storage room he found himself escorted, for the first time since his initial arrival on that base, like the prisoner that he suddenly was. 

His internal comm chimed with a notification that another person was trying to reach him. Glit didn’t feel comfortable disconnecting the call with the base commander to take the new inbound. The base commander had been a long time acquaintance of the medic and he hoped he would have the chance to drink with that mech again after everything was over. The base commander thanked him for all he did on both sides. He was being given the promise he’d be welcome again in the future. He was given well-wishes for his continued survival, but it felt hollow when his attention strayed to who the second caller was. He felt his vents hitch, his ventilation fans painfully losing power for the smallest of moments.

Glit had always known what they had was going to be temporary. He couldn’t bring himself to answer. It would go to his message drop box. Emotion welled up in his optics as he continued walking. Rosanna was probably trying to reach him before the communications team deleted his temporary commcode from the base’s system. She had been a light in his life for the time they’d known each other and, with him and the Decepticons leaving this sector, her safety was prolonged. He’d take some comfort in that thought while he could. He briefly wished he was a weaker person. He wished that he could’ve stayed with her. Glit knew as he looked at the ramp onto the shuttle before his pedes that he’d likely never see her smile again. He felt wounded as he was nudged to take a step onto the angled metal panel.

The cassette was loaded onto the shuttle and he drew an inward hiss as the too-big inhibitor claw was mounted on his back to prevent him from moving. It would stay there until the exchange was done. It was now time to wait until they got the okay to take off. The Decepticons were probably still gathering up their prisoners, and eventually the exchange would either happen on an asteroid or, depending on how flaky things were with the Decepticons pulling out, there was a possibility it might even be done through closely positioned ships across the yawning maw of space--which was not Glit’s favorite idea. 

The comm call with the Autobot commander mercifully ended. The walk from the medbay to the shuttle seemed longer than he knew it was. The comm call seemed like it had gone on for an hour, but the end of it meant silence. As he sat unable to move with the inhibitor claw in place, in the  _ heavy _ silence of the shuttle surrounded by anxious security mechs that were freshly reminded of the mark on his shoulder, the pings of a waiting message ignited an acrid realization that he was also led and held here by the bearing weight and consequences of his own morality, and the understanding of that sat bitterly in his mouth, throat, and tank. There was no way to escape betraying a part of his feelings. Any unhappiness from this point forward was something he brought upon himself. He’d have to own this decision like he owned his past decisions. 

He had meant what he’d said to Rosanna that night. They had to be their best selves, and his best self was always meant to help others. With extra effort he managed to push through the overbearing strength of the inhibitor to shutter his optics, and as he listened to her message he felt the shuttle lurch as it began to move. The creaking, clacking sound of the mechs around him adjusting their holds on their weapons filtered through as he echoed her sentiment to his core. They just needed to _ make it through this. _


	19. Favorite Record Side A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're heading into the final chapters of the fic! The big secret is that Glit and Rosanna are both hot messes, and thems the honest truth. 
> 
> The song featured in this chapter is "Favorite Record" by Fall Out Boy. Title drop, at long last!

There was less than two weeks left of lying. Glam felt some relief when he worded it that way. It felt like the days lately had teetered between uncomfortably long and uncomfortably short. He had made the next couple weeks easy on himself for his performance. For his finale, he wasn’t dancing or pulling out a lot of theatrics, so he didn’t have to worry about choreography and the stage design was already done. He planned to stay in one spot on the stage and give the somber song its dues, but he had a distinct feeling the duet with Rosanna wasn’t going to be as easy. 

He wished there was something more to distract him from his thoughts as he left to get morning fuel with Rosanna. Roadrage was getting her physical so she could be cleared to return to her original frame. Her steady presence was gone, and Glam missed her good-natured prodding already. Today was the only full day he’d have to get the duet hashed out. Each contestant got one full day and two half days with the pop star to get their routines and songs hammered out. The choreography for the most part was done for them to keep things fair and within scope for both the constants and Rosanna to do. The stage layouts were also planned, but small tweaks and flourishes were allowed to make sure every competing performer was properly staying within their image. 

Today was a long time to spend with Rosanna. There wasn’t going to be any way to dodge her. He couldn’t step out to take a call or act like he was busy and had to get back to practice. There wasn’t a list of pre-scripted questions to keep her from asking a wrong one. All of today was time deliberately set aside to spend with her. They were supposed to be working, but that would only give so much of a distraction. 

Glam hadn’t really tried to hide himself when he helped design this frame. He chose the same colors, gold optics, fangs, and even his helm was shaped to mimic feline ears. There was a pulse wave on his shoulder, a non-standard medic symbol that was used before and sometimes during the war. He hadn’t wanted to hide. It hadn’t been his intention to at the start and he hadn’t thought he would have to. There was an unsureness, an unease that he couldn’t quite call regret about his decision. The helicopter mech waited just inside the studio’s entrance, and leaned his shoulder against a wall. He looked at the ground as he mulled over his predicament. He straddled an uncomfortable place of wanting to be recognized and remembered, and needing not to be--at least for just a little longer. 

Glam rubbed at his upper arm in discomfort and drew his bottom lip into his mouth to worry at it. Roadrage had tried to get him to entertain the idea that he, perhaps, still meant something to Rosanna after all this time. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. He was doing well during this competition in trying to change the course of his life. The pink femme just meant so much to him, but there was no way to tell her until the competition was over. His morals had made him miserable once, and it looked like they were setting him up again proving he hadn’t learned much over millions of years. Once he had his prize winnings, he had the option to say something, say anything. He didn’t have any idea what he  _ could _ say to her. His gold optics weren’t focused as the cassette came into his field of vision. 

Her form stood idle for a moment before a chipper voice broke into his thoughts. “Good morning, Glam! You alright?” Rosanna lightly waved one of her hands in greeting, the other folded behind her back as she looked up at him with a smile.

The white and blue mech startled. He straightened from his lean and gave a solid, definite nod. “I’m good. How’re you doing? Ready to get some fuel?” Glam fell quickly into a tactic that had worked before, and that was to try talking about the next thing--anything that wasn’t him.

“Yeah, I’m ready!” She replied, folding her arms behind her back. “We can just swing by the lot café and pick something up. I figured we could find somewhere nice to sit and start going over the song before we actually start doing studio work.” She took a step back and to the side, cutely beckoning him to join her.

He ducked his head bashfully and came up beside her. Glam kept his gaze down, keeping her in sight. “How’s things going with Windy and Jetsetter?” It was an attempt to keep conversation flowing and away from him, the other two having already had their planning time with Rosanna.

She giggled lightly. “It’s going great! I’m excited to be out on stage with them, I’ve been wanting the chance to perform with everyone since the show started, and now I finally get the chance! Outside of karaoke anyway--but how about you? How have things been in prepping your finale?” 

“It’s going. I made things pretty easy on myself so I’m more nervous about the duet.” He shot a small anxious smile at the femme beside him. “I’m at your mercy.” She had no idea how real that felt. 

He heard her laugh again, her ducking her own helm and averting her optics to pay attention to the path ahead of them. Now outside, the sun was pleasantly warm, the air still crisp with the morning. “We’ll see about that,” she teased. “I do hope you like the song I chose. It’ll work really well for us, I think.” 

They kept walking and Glam relaxed, lifting his gaze to look around more. “I probably will. I don’t think you’d have saddled yourself with something terrible.” 

“Oh no no, I’m a bit more strategic than that.” Her arms were partially crossed, one of her hands making light gestures as she spoke. She was nervous. “I wanted it to be something both fun and meaningful, you know? Kinda my thing.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Glam spoke before he really thought through the repercussions. A barely visible cringe flashed on his face. “So you gonna tell me what the song is or are you keeping it a surprise?” He again pressed forward, knowing the best way often to get people to forget something is to keep moving. 

“Keeping it a surprise,” Rosanna replied with a playfully sweet tone, winking up at him. “At least until after we grab some fuel. And maybe some snacks to have for later.” 

The two exchanged more light banter, both doing their best to fill the conversational void in the time it took to get to their destination. Glam felt there was something amiss with how she was acting, but as things were, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Without the ability to put himself forward and actually be _ himself _ , it wasn’t right to ask her to do the same. A lot of the conversation that happened felt stifled, or oddly empty. It was similar to spun energon candy and the moment a bit of wetness--or in this case, truth--hit it, the fluffiness of it would dissolve to nothing. 

It wasn’t long before they arrived at the café and placed their orders for the fuel. Momentarily distracted by the quiet hum of workers and patrons along with the dishes clattering and workings of the eatery, he was brought back to attention by the sound of Rosanna shaking a small box. 

A bright smile crossed her face, her shoulders drawn up in eagerness. “Snacks for later, as promised.”

Glam chuckled and playfully responded, “People treats.” Earlier in his life he may have been offended at the idea of treats in this context but he learned over time how to turn that into a joke highlighting the silliness of the culture he lived in. All treats were people treats, even if that person just happened to be a cat-shaped people. 

Rosanna ducked her helm again at the comment. “People treats,” she chuckled quietly. She refreshed her vocalizer, stepping close and beside Glam to resume how they were walking before, the box tucked close to her front. “There’s a nice quiet place I know where we can sit and start hashing things out. I figured it might help to focus better, if you’re okay with that.”

The blue and white mech held the cups of energon that were their breakfasts. He nodded and gestured for her to lead the way. He again pushed conversation forward, trying to not let silence build between them, “So, did the show turn out how you were thinking it would? Or did you have a different idea on who’d make it to the top three?” 

Rosanna rapidly refreshed her optics at the question, looking up at the sky in mild surprise at being put on the spot. She drew in her bottom lip as she thought on how to respond, opening her mouth in momentary preparation before she began to speak. “I always thought you and Windy were both really strong competitors right from the beginning. I wasn’t sure how Jetsetter was going to be with how shy he was at first, but he really grew into performing in front of so many people, and he’s really let himself shine.” She looked back up at Glam, her expression soft. “So I guess what I’m saying is, I’m not really surprised you guys ended up as the top three. You’re all great.” 

“Windy really has put a lot of effort into the competition and she really wants to win. She’s really good, too. Jetsetter could do a lot if given the chance. It would change his life. Give him the time he needs to really explore.” Glam paused as he thought about what to say. He wanted to let her know that winning was more important for those two, that they needed this more and differently from how he did. “I’m not in it like they are.” His voice quieted. “I guess I’m saying, don’t worry too much about our duet. I’ll be fine whatever place I end up in at the end.” 

The femme grew quiet, her optics directed down and ahead of them. “You’re a really good person, Glam.” Her tone was warm, him picking up at the hint of sadness that crept at the edges of her voice. “I still want to go put on a good show,” she added, trying to lift her voice back up. “Even if you’re not worried about it as much, I think it’ll still be a lot of fun.” 

Nodding again he felt slightly bad at potentially implying that he didn’t care about performing with her. “We can try to have some fun. It’s been a while since I did a duet on stage.” 

Rosanna nodded her helm, a small smile still settled on her features as he thought he picked up on a moment of hesitation. “Like I said, I’ve been itching to do this since it was decided I’d be given the opportunity to. There’s no way it  _ won’t _ be fun.” 

She continued to lead the way and Glam felt a growing frustration at the frivolity of their conversation. He tried to swallow it down. There was no point in letting that show. He voiced a sigh as he slid onto the bench of the table beside her. His chest and shoulders felt tight. The spot Rosanna led them to was relatively secluded, one of the many nooks the studio had dotted throughout the campus. This appeared to be an area that generally received a lot less foot traffic, which was somewhat of a relief knowing there weren’t others around to potentially gawk or stare. With how much time she spent at the studio campus and what he knew of her nature, it wasn’t a surprise she would have found another sort of nook like this. 

The femme set the box of goodies on the table as she accepted the fuel that was offered to her, exuding a sigh of her own. 

“Okay,” she breathed. “Let me get the song set up.” Glam watched as she reached into her subspace to retrieve a datapad, beginning to tap through screens. “I figured it might be best if we listened to it together first, and then I can shoot you the file.” She hesitated again in speaking, her finger hovering over the file as she continued to stare at the screen. 

The helicopter mech gave a baffled look from the device to the femme as her hand was paused over the button on the screen. He waited for a moment not sure if there was some unseen error taking place. “The song?” 

Rosanna started slightly at his prompting, laughing lightly as she shook her helm. “Yeah, sorry. I guess if I’m being honest here, I’m a little nervous too. I wanted to make sure I picked something that felt right and, I knew it was a group you performed from before, but I also wanted it to, uhm, well…” She trailed off as it seemed like her voice got caught in her throat, the hint of a blush creeping from under her visor. “I hope you like it.” At that, the femme tapped the screen, and the song began to play in the space between them. He was distracted from the song initially, more stuck looking at her expression and the hints her body language dropped. 

Glam forced himself to look at the datapad. He skimmed the lyrics. Deep down he felt like he was missing something in this interaction. “Rosie is something up?” His voice was deliberately soft, and held notes of imploring apology. He knew he should have been able to piece together the song, the hitching of her voice and the slight tremble in her hand, but there was a sinking feeling that the longer he went without getting it, the worse it would be. Rosanna didn’t immediately respond as the song continued to play from the datapad. 

_ You were the song stuck in my head _

_ Every song I've ever loved _

_ Played again and again and again _

He saw melted optic filament begin to trickle out from under the femme’s visor, and she ducked her helm, lifting the glass to try to wipe away the liquid with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she uttered, her voice tight. “I’m so sorry. I was dumb, I shouldn’t have, I didn’t think--” Her hand lowered, but the line of blue from her over-white optics continued to form and she turned her helm away from him, again trying to brush away the tears, all through a forced smile. 

Glam swallowed dryly. “Rosie.” He said her name on an in-vent, the sound barely audible. “What’s going on? Please tell me.” Distress crept into his voice. He caused this. He  _ hated  _ this. Something hurt in his chassis from knowing he’d likely contributed to this. 

_ And I can't, I can't, I can't remember _

_ Just how to forget, forget the way _

_ That we danced, we danced _

The song intruded briefly. He caught the lyrics and looked at her. “Please look at me.” His voice tightened as well. It wasn’t his place to reach out and touch her. His hands clenched to prevent him from doing so. Did she remember him? Glam felt the prickle at the lower edge of his optics. 

Rosanna slowly turned her helm to face him, a small smile betraying the intense amount of sadness in her optics. “It’s you, isn’t it?” The filament was flowing freely as the heat behind her eyes grew whiter, blue optics pleadingly meeting gold. “Glit?”

His spark stalled. He pressed his thumb at the lower edge of his visor and it recessed up into his helm. He could smell the heated filament. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I couldn’t. I can’t. I- I didn’t even know if-” His vision became warped and he knew he was crying now too. “Dammit.” Glit rubbed at the edge of an optic with the heel of his hand. The relief was immense and at the same time frightening. It meant so much to be remembered that his chest ached. 

He immediately felt her smaller form press into him as her arms wrapped around his frame, her hands clinging to whatever purchase they could get in an embrace, mostly his lower rotor housing. “I knew it was you. I knew it.” She buried her face against his front with a quiet sob of a breath, her intakes hitching as a joyful grief resonated in her voice. “I wanted to say something  _ so _ badly, but I didn’t want to risk it. For a while I thought I was going crazy, but the more I was around you, I knew. It’s you.  _ It’s you. _ ” 

Glit’s arms found places to rest softly around her, returning the embrace. He felt a tad overwhelmed, but fought the feeling and his tears back. “It’s me.” His voice cracked. “I never  _ could _ keep anything from you.” An emotion-rough bark of a laugh left him, which caused the femme in his arms to laugh too. “I didn’t know you were going to be a judge.  _ Primus _ , I didn’t want to lie to you.” 

“Yeah, they kinda kept that a surprise for everyone.” She chuckled against him, lifting her helm. Her face was tear streaked, but filled with a relief that echoed his own. “Surprise?” 

A smile spread on his face and shuttered his optics, bringing a hand up to wipe at them again. Glit cycled air deliberately and looked back down at her. “Surprise.” He repeated the word in jest and a tad bit belligerently. The femme burst into a small fit of laughter at that, wiping at her own face. 

“I’m so glad,” she breathed. “I’m so glad you’re here, and you’re okay. I didn’t know for so long if you had made it through the war or not. I was afraid...” She drew back slightly to give her more room to fully look at him, moving her free hand upwards and hovering lightly over the side of his face, as if to ask permission to touch him. Her optics were still bright and pleading. “May I?” 

Giving a shallow nod, he moved his face into her hand. Her fingers came to rest on his cheek. Glit knew how he must’ve been looking at her. It’s how he looked at her when he had sang to her from the stage, and when he thought he wouldn’t get caught. His optics still felt too warm and he felt another tiny run of filament leak down and hit her fingers. His voice was so tiny and left his vocalizer slightly raw to speak. “I loved you so much.” 

Rosanna choked out a small noise--something between a laugh and a sob as she cupped his face into her hands, her optics soft and piercing all at once as she gently brushed away the tears with her thumb. “And I loved you too, Glitty-kitty.” 

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, finally taking in what they hadn’t seen in millennia. He had the urge to close the distance between their faces and make sure she understood that he was still holding onto that feeling from then. Glit stayed where he was and reality crushed down on him. He still had so much riding on finishing this out. “Slag. I- frag it. The competition.” The datapad had run through the song, leaving them in silence. Both of them tilted their helms to look at the device before looking back at each other. “We need to- We can’t do this right now.” 

“No, we really can’t, can we?” Rosanna replied with quiet humor in her voice. She held his face for a moment longer, her thumbs brushing just below his optics. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d be able to do this with you and be able keep it together until the finale. But, I chose a song that said what I felt. And, uh. Yeah, didn’t quite work out the way I planned.” She laughed again, shuttering her optics. She slowly lowered her hands from his face, instead letting them rest over one of his own. “But, now we know. I didn’t forget.” 

“You didn’t, neither did I.” He turned one of his hands in order to hold one of hers, giving a gentle reaffirming squeeze. The mech’s mouth slanted in a toothy grin. “Hey, at least to my knowledge the finale doesn’t end with a prisoner swap, so we can probably talk more later.” A laugh bubbled up from his chest as Rosanna’s expression flattened, staring up at him with an intense look--which only made him laugh more. 

Her stern frown tapered off into a grin as she spoke. “We can talk more later,” she confirmed. Rosanna rubbed at her face, as if trying to wipe away her exasperation after his joke. She was silent for a long moment, the femme in thought before she looked back up at him. “Can you promise me?” She asked. “Promise that when this is done, we’ll have time?” She squeezed his hand, a kind of anxiousness creeping into her voice again. “I know it’s ridiculous, especially now, but—I think I just kind of need to hear it. There’s so much I want to ask and say, and... I’m just kind of afraid you might disappear again.” 

Glit gave another, longer nod. “I promise.” He ducked his helm and brought their faces momentarily closer to have their optics lock. “I mean it. We’ll catch up. I need to finish out the competition though. It’s really important Rosie-Doll.” There was a small tinge of pleading in his voice, her old nickname earning him a smile. He couldn’t tell her why, but she’d find out soon enough. They had already broken so many of the contest’s rules, and if even one of those slip ups were caught he could be disqualified. 

Rosanna nodded her helm with determination in her optics. ”Then it looks like we have some work to do.” She held his gaze for a moment longer before reluctantly removing her hand from his. She turned to grab the datapad, a flush of color on her cheeks. “So, uhm… let’s try this again, with less crying this time?”

“Yeah, preferably.” His shoulders lowered and a horrid tenseness in his chassis loosened. There was a smile lingering on his face that would have been hard to remove had he bothered to try. They were both exactly where they needed to be in that moment. Just as it had years and years before, the world seemed to fade out around them in favor of the other’s company and music. They began working through the piece, divvying out the lyrics and looking over the choreography that had been prepared. It would feel odd dancing with her in his current frame, but they’d figure it out. It brought a wave of nostalgia so strong that at times he still had to stifle tears that wanted to leak. 

The box of gummy energon candy was slowly eaten, some flavors disappearing faster than others, and their hands knocked together numerous times. They eventually migrated to his designated practice space and danced. They bumped into each other and caught their footing while laughing. It was a slow process of becoming familiar with one another again, but Glit oddly felt like the time and space between the base then and the room they occupied now folded away. He practiced spinning her, and had to be walked through the unfamiliar motion of holding up her arm to spin her around, only to playfully catch her in a hug. More and more laughter tumbled out of the both of them as day passed into evening. Unsurprisingly they lost track of time, and were shaken out of their fun by the large shape of Rosanna’s bodyguard in the doorway, clearing his vocalizer. 

The two had been caught with the femme held up and against Glit’s front in a sweet embrace, her helm tucked beneath his when the sound of Roughstuff’s voice cut into the room. The femme turned to look in the doorway, her smile widening as she moved one of her hands to wave at the mech.

“Sorry, I’ll be there in a moment!” Rosanna called out to the large mech that was leaning expectantly against the frame of the doorway. Glit bashfully took the cue to lower Rosanna back to the ground, their arms lingering together briefly before they slid apart. “That’s Roughstuff. He’s my transport, bodyguard, friend.” She rubbed the back of her helm. “Kinda lost track of time and forgot to tell him I’d probably be staying late today, but. Probably need to wrap things up for tonight anyway. Fairness to Windy and Jetsetter, and all that.” There was a reluctance in her tone. Neither of them wanted to leave.

His expression softened and he nodded. Glit took a small step back putting a more professional distance in place. “And all that. I’ll see you around.” His voice had a sweet velvety quality that brought a blush to the femme’s cheeks. 

Her own optics and voice softened, speaking quietly with a small smile. “See you, Glam.” 

* * *

Roughstuff shut his door as the femme situated herself on his bench seat. “So, seems like you worked things out with Glam.” His voice came into the cabin over internal speakers. It was clear that the bodyguard might have watched for a couple moments from the practice room doorway before he had announced his presence. 

Rosanna smiled, her hands folded across her lap. “I did, yeah,” she replied, her voice warm. She paused momentarily in contemplation about how to go about this conversation. Roughstuff had been her confidant during this whole ordeal, as well as Twirl--the key difference between the two being she knew Roughstuff would be able to keep Glam’s identity to himself, whereas Twirl had a reputation as a notorious gossip and would be way too excited to be able to keep quiet about Glit. Rosanna felt guilty about it, but she’d have to tell the other femme the good news later. 

“How long were you standing there, anyway?” The femme asked playfully, folding her arms across her chassis.

“Long enough to see you looked very ok with being up in his business.” The tone was teasing, Roughstuff sounding pleased with the development. The mech was probably relieved that Rosanna hadn’t ended the day distracted and distressed as she had before. 

The femme chuckled quietly under her breath, warmth creeping into her cheeks, clearly not eager to deny the accusation. “Turns out I wasn’t going crazy after all,” she replied. “It’s him. It’s Glit.” 

The larger mech might have slowed in his driving speed slightly at that to lengthen the commute--at least she thought as though the world outside the window seemed a little less blurry. “So how do you feel about that?” Roughstuff was a surprisingly good sounding board for her thoughts, and though he often offered violence as an answer, nowadays it was  _ mostly _ in jest. 

“I’m…” Rosanna started and stopped, trying to weigh on exactly what her feelings were about the situation. “It almost doesn’t feel real,” she replied with a small laugh. “It feels like I finally let go of a breath I forgot I was holding. I tried to play it down for so long how much I missed him and wished things had gone differently, and now knowing he’s here and still cares, I…” She leaned her helm back against the seat, looking longingly aside out the window. “We get another chance. Saying I feel happy is an understatement.” 

“How’s he feeling about it?” The question rolled smoothly from the former Decepticon like it had already been loaded. 

“He said he loved me.” Rosanna comically squished her cheek up against the window, her optics distant and clearly focused elsewhere. “He’s still so nervous about the competition, though. We still have to keep his identity secret so he doesn’t get disqualified, so we couldn’t exactly catch up. But he wants to, and he was so happy that he knew I didn’t forget him, and he was so sweet, and so soft and good, and--” She squeaked out a sigh, feeling her optics heat at their corners again. “He’s still him.” 

There was a long silence from Roughstuff as he let her have a moment. “I’m happy for you Rose. Kinda sad I don’t get to beat the slag outta someone, but happy for ya.” A smile colored his voice. 

Rosanna laughed at his response. “Thank you, Ruff. And thank you for being here with me though all this. And for dealing with me being mushy. Well…  _ extra _ mushy.” She righted herself a bit. “Moving forward, I know there’s going to be a lot to cover. Things… haven’t been easy for him. I don’t know exactly what all he’s gone through, but I know it’s been hard. He’s always been a gentle person. He’s someone that deserves to be happy.” 

She tilted her helm slightly, leaning forward a bit, a smile in her voice. “You know you’re gonna meet him, right?” 

“Well, yeah, I figured I’d probably be hauling him around too. Well, unless he decides to stay that hot. Still a bit on the small side.” The mech’s personal taste bled into the conversation, Rosanna giving one of his interior panels a playful swat. 

“I’m  _ pretty sure  _ that’s not what his plan is,” she replied. “Anyway,  _ dibs. _ ” Roughstuff laughed in response, Rossanna joining him. “You wanna get bubble tea? I think we should celebrate.”

“Bubble tea it is.” He turned on his blinker as he changed course. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In trying to originally write this out, we were trying to delay Glit's reveal to Rosanna until the grand finale, but as it goes with writing certain characters, Rosanna and her intense impatience wouldn't allow it. Also kudos to Roughstuff for putting up with all this between Rosanna and Glam, he's a champ. 
> 
> Next chapter, Rosanna finally takes to the stage in the grand finale for Cybertron's Brightest! YAAayy


	20. Favorite Record Side B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the grand finale, and Rosie is starting things off with her duet spectacular with all the contestants! 
> 
> The songs featured in this chapter are "How to be a Heartbreaker" by Marina and the Diamonds, "Good Time" by Owl City & Carly Rae Jepsen, and "Favorite Record" by Fall Out Boy. (this is a song/performance heavy chapter, yes)
> 
> Have fun!

“Mechs and femmes of all frames, sizes, and dispositions--welcome to the grand finale of “ _Cybertron’s Brightest”!”_

_“_ We’ve all been on quite a journey together to get here tonight, haven’t we? As your humble host, I’ve been absolutely _blown away_ by everything I’ve seen. I knew we were going to get a show, but man, did we get a _show_!” 

“We’ve been serenaded and crooned, we rocked and we rolled, we laughed and we cried, and everything in between! We’ve had _incredible_ talent up here on this stage, and I think it’s needless to say we’ve been shown how amazing, how incredibly diverse we are as a people--” 

Rocksteady was standing under a spotlight, continuing with his opening speech with the stage already set and dimly lit behind him. The hologram of a scene of a city plaza was displayed with its quiet murmurings, strikingly similar to the one seen earlier when Glam performed _Sucker._ Mechs and femmes acted like they were milling around and going about their business, completely oblivious to the announcer and audience. It was the scene Rosanna and the choreographers had crafted for the three duets she was about to perform back to back, and the femme was practically buzzing with excitement, her hands clasped in front of her chassis in an attempt to keep that energy in check. She listened to Rocksteady’s introduction from backstage, idly waiting with Windy for her cue.

Windy herself shared the infectious enthusiasm, rocking from one pede to the other as she looked to the stage entrance. “I’m so excited for this,” she breathed. “Primus, I want this.” Her focus was still out toward the stage, an edge of nervousness in her voice. 

Rosanna reached out a hand to rest on the larger femme’s arm, speaking softly. “I know.” The words held an unspoken weight to them. Even now, there was still so much of herself Rosanna saw in the femme that was coming into her own, who was doing all she could to redefine herself and be all that she could be. There was a passion that lay beneath that femme’s plating--an intense anger, a love, a joy. Windy wanted to shine, she wanted to express everything she was told to smother and keep hidden away. She wanted to _burn_. “You’re going to be great, Windy. I know you will. You got this.”

Windy’s hand covered Rosanna’s smaller one. Her expression was one of immense stress, but also immense gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Let’s do this.” She applied pressure creating a gentle squeeze between her hand and the plating of her arm. Rosanna smiled up at her before returning her attention to Rocksteady.

“--but here we are, at long last! Tonight is the night we decide once and for all who really is, _“Cybertron’s Brightest_!”

“Before our finalists give us their last performances, they’re taking a break from going solo to pair up with the loveliest and pinkest of our panelists. You know her, you love her, you’re probably thinking it’s about time she took to the stage this season--she’s your resident pop diva, Rosanna! And she’s starting our duet spectacular with Windy to give us the lowdown on how to be a sparkbreaker--er sorry, _heartbreaker._ Haha, humans. Now everyone give it up for our ladies!”

The mech jogged off stage and the lighting rose to illuminate the scene. The time appeared to be just at sunset when neon lights started flickering to life, crowds started trickling into existence, and the sounds of people out on the town rose to immerse the audience. “That’s our cue!” Rosanna eagerly tugged at Windy’s hand as the guitar lead for the song began to play, giving them their time to enter onto the stage.

The scene was set for them to be having a night out together, a couple of gorgeous femmes out to have fun and break some sparks. It was going to be a fun performance, a song she knew both her and Windy could have a great time doing together, and one they both felt somewhat of a personal connection to.

_Rule number one, is that you gotta have fun_

_But baby when you're done, you gotta be the first to run_

Windy was the first to start out the song, the two alternating between singing the ‘rules’ to each other. The two femmes walked in stride, Windy’s hands motioning seamlessly to illustrate the lines and imagery of the lyrics. 

_Rule number two, just don't get attached to_

_Somebody you could lose_

_So le-let me tell you..._

Rosanna felt a soft curl of a smile when it came time to sing her line, Glit’s face immediately coming to mind. He was the one she originally thought of when choosing the song, before she knew for certain he had come back into her life. That, and for the fact the song referenced the long line of sparks she had left behind in her pursuit of the feeling she had lost so long ago, and knowing the feelings and hurt Windy felt for her own past experiences.

The smaller femme shot glances to her stage partner, who was ready and willing to make this song her own. Windy threw herself into the dancing, acting and miming the motions to play up the story they were telling.

_This is how to be a heartbreaker_

_Boys they like the look of danger_

_We'll get him falling for a stranger_

_A player, singing I lo-lo-love you_

Mechs and femmes they passed along the ‘street’ swooned, Windy brushing the tips of her fingers under someone’s chin while Rosanna blew them kisses. The femme was a joy to work with, playing off of her own energy and putting on the best show they could. 

_Rule number three, wear your heart on your cheek_

_But never on your sleeve, unless you wanna taste defeat_

With one hand Rosanna covered up one of the hearts on her shoulder, the other partially covering her mouth in mock surprise as Windy gestured knowingly at the small heart decal she had painted on her cheek. 

_Rule number four, gotta be looking pure_

_Kiss him goodbye at the door, and leave him wanting more, more_

The smaller femme then moved to act out her own verse, cutely framing her face with her hands at the audience as she walked, mocking a kiss before her smile curled into something almost darkly mischievous. The two femmes were opening the show with something eye-catching, playful, and entertaining. It was everything the first performance should be. Windy had worked hard for this, and, as always, her passion shined forward. Rosanna was proud of her. 

The two finished the song with their backs pressed together after dancing, Windy having spun the smaller femme into the final position before they raised their hands in a shushing motion at the audience as they faux-whispered the last lines. 

_‘Cause I lo-lo-lo-love you_

_At least I think I do!_

The crowd erupted into applause as the song ended, Windy and Rosanna turning to hug each other before the contestant turned to the audience, blowing them kisses as well. The two femmes waved farewells to each other, Windy walking off the stage in a fashion implying she fully intended to carry on her work of breaking sparks in this city. It was the sort of showmanship Rosanna loved to see in making a story for the audience to follow along with. 

The set around Rosanna shifted seamlessly around her, the sky changing from an orange-pink hue to a blue and gold star filled evening. The ‘pedestrians’ on stage shifted around as the buildings moved and changed to a different district--this time, one showing a group of dance clubs and music venues. Rosanna played her role in the scene, looking excitedly at the city around her, a skip in her step as she moved to lean up against the wall of a building. She acted like she was calling up a friend--which was Jetsetter’s cue to make his entrance on stage. 

The crowd applauded as he entered the scene and waved to Rosanna, the femme immediately perking up and running over to him as the music for their song started up. She embraced the mech in a cute hug, Jetsetter briefly swinging her around as they began to vocalize to the music. 

_Whoa oh oh oh_

_It's always a good time_

The song and scene Rosanna chose for them was very sweet, happy, and lighthearted, about friends going out and having fun together. It was--as the song was called--supposed to be a good time. Jetsetter was all for making people happy and feeling positive most of the time. She felt this was a good blend of their styles and intentions with their music, and would give the mech a chance to show his range in genre and performance style to the audience. Jetsetter was the first to start off with the vocals, the two cutely dancing together down the street towards the buildings.

_Woke up on the right side of the bed_

_What's up with this Prince song inside my head?_

_Hands up if you're down to get down tonight_

_'Cause it's always a good time_

He was so happy to be performing this song, and the energy he put into being on stage with the femme made that very clear. Rosanna sincerely loved Jetsetter and his youthful joy and sincerity he often exuded. It made people smile just being around him, the genuine lighthearted optimism and vulnerability seemingly infectious. The world needed more people like Jetsetter. He deserved to be seen, and there was so much good he could do with his love for music. 

_Good morning and good night_

_I wake up at twilight_

_It's gonna be alright_

_We don't even have to try_

_It's always a good time!_

The scene was set so they encouraged other people to come out on the street to join in their dancing, starting their own party that drew more mechs and femmes from the holographic buildings. This was by far the most theatrics Jetsetter had been involved with in the competition since his brief cameo in Glit’s _The Greatest Show_ , and Rosanna had worked hard with him through practice to make sure he still stood out above the visual noise of it all and didn’t get overwhelmed. She was relieved and delighted to see him truly enjoying himself and standing out.

_Doesn't matter when_

_It's always a good time then_

_Doesn't matter where_

_It's always a good time there_

_Doesn't matter when,_

_It's always a good time then_

_It's always a good time!_

The song ended with the dancers yawning and acting like they were getting tired, everyone dispersing and waving to bid each other goodbye. Rosanna and Jetsetter laughed together and gave each other a hug, the mech spinning her around in one last embrace before setting her down and waving to her as well. He made a stop at the front of the stage, excitedly and bashfully taking a bow as the audience broke into cheers and applause for him. He ducked his helm cutely momentarily before beaming a smile at the crowd, then turning to make his exit as he jogged offstage.

Rosanna herself waved at his turned back before folding her arms behind her own. She stood there quietly as the city lights around her flickered out, plunging most of the stage around her into darkness. It was a brief moment of solemnness that descended in the atmosphere as the pink figure stood alone. She lowered her helm, turning to walk carefully metered steps to her mark. It was now she knew that Glit was making his entrance onto the stage with the dark as his cover--per tradition, it would seem-- as the holographic scene around her began to shift. 

The buildings around her began to rise, bringing the femme up to the scene of a rooftop. The black and blue of the sky began to shift into a brilliant purple and orange-gold, slowly illuminating the scene. Ornamental crystals, lamps and strings of lights came to life dotted across the stage, as well as various ledges, benches, and fences made available for use in the dance. Glit was brought into view, his back turned to the audience as he stared out at the faux skyline. The crowd burst into cheers at the sight of the white figure, and a smile spread across Rosanna’s face at the sight.

The femme stood in that brief moment before the song was set to begin, awash with a warm, glowing disbelief that fluttered in her chassis. Sharing a stage with Glit again felt like a bygone fantasy, and yet here they were, together, about to perform a duet in front of all Cybertronians willing to watch and listen. 

Glit was still in the sleek form of the helicopter mech the audience had grown to know, but all she could see was the feline cassette that temporarily dwelled within that frame. Now that she knew, she could never unsee him. She could see the subtle and familiar tells in his body language now that she was looking for them; the small twitch and fan of the rotors mirrored how his tail and ears would flick when he was nervous. It betrayed him, but only to her. It was only a matter of days, maybe a couple weeks before he would be back in his original frame. She would get the chance to see his sweet face again after this was all over, and that was a promise she held close to spark. 

As he stood waiting for the first notes to begin, Rosanna took a few involuntary steps towards him, momentarily forgetting she too, was supposed to be still while they waited for the cheers to recede. This was a song remembering the late nights and early mornings they had shared together those years ago, the many songs and dances and unspoken but demonstrated confessions of their affections. It was a remembrance of what they had, a celebration of their reuniting, and a promise of the opportunity they now had to find out what a future together could be. She was eager to sing and dance with him in front of a crowd again, and her ardor was timely met with music as the first notes to the song began to play.

Glit turned to look at Rosanna, blue optics meeting gold. His own expression was warm, a softness around his eyes giving way to a big, toothy smile that lit up his features in what appeared to be joyful relief. He was _here_. He began to sing, slowly starting his approach towards the femme as he gestured between her and himself, his shoulders slanted in a relaxed way. His focus was on her, and she felt the audience behind her fade as she was brought into this moment. 

_Do you do, do you remember_

_When we drove, we drove, drove through the night_

_And we danced, we danced_

_To Rancid, and we danced, we danced_

The mech playfully jumped onto and spun around one of the lampposts, mimicking one of his moves from an earlier performance, his expression both soft and intense. His optics never left hers for a moment. Rosanna smiled brightly, her steps light and filled with a certain airy spring to them as she navigated her way across the front of the stage. The two were slowly circling the other, carefully and seamlessly stepping their way around the cluttered edge of the hologram in time to the stride of the song. The lyrics mirrored so much of their own experiences, the song seemingly a play at what they themselves were feeling in this moment of remembrance. She shuttered her optics, taking her turn with the lyrics as they walked around each other, slowly tightening the circle they walked. 

_And I confessed, confessed to you_

_Riding shotgun underneath the purple skies_

_And we danced, we danced_

_With windows down, and we danced, we danced_

The two reached the center of their circle, beginning their close dance together as Glit began the sincerely felt lines to the chorus. Their optics were locked, the white and blue mech seamlessly working through the footing that led the smaller femme around and over the bench that was placed to bring her closer to his optic-level.

_You were the song stuck in my head_

_Every song I've ever loved_

_Played again and again and again_

_And you can get what you want but it's never enough._

Glit gently guided the femme back down to touch her pedes to the ground, her spinning away again from him in a playful dance, laughter and joy reaching her optics as she looked at him. This performance was for them. Rosanna knew he didn’t care about what place he landed tonight in the competition, and it was made all the more obvious to Rosanna what he was doing right now was for her--for them. Her spark swelled in her chassis with the feeling of how much she had wanted him in her life again, the feeling of how much she had longed for one more dance, one more chance to share in what they had together.  
  


_And I'll spin for you like your favorite records used to_

_And I'll spin for you like your favorite records used to_  
  


The two spun back out from each other, continuing their circular dance around the rooftop as the smaller femme hopped from one prop to the other in her enthusiasm. Rosanna started on her share of the lyrics, clearly singing to the mech she shared the stage with. 

_And I can't, I can't, I can't remember_

_Just how to forget, forget the way_

_That we danced, we danced_

_To Danzig, and we danced, we danced_

Glit responded with his turn again at the song, approaching Rosanna sweetly. She reached out her hand to take his with a squeeze, the mech gently and playfully spinning her around in place. 

_And when you asked, you asked me how I'm doing_

_Like you know, you know how much better off I am_

_And when we danced, we danced_

_With windows down, and we danced, we danced_

The lines of the chorus lifted up and out from her chassis, the words ringing true from her spark as she looked to Glit with an almost burning intensity. She felt the words through her frame, and the sincerity struck a rarely heard near-desperation in her voice. It was a harkening to the many songs and dances and late night whisperings they shared, how they both felt the echoes of their time together in the best of their memories and experiences. They never forgot each other, they never let go. Rosanna had hunted for someone that would be able to carry that melody with her, but no one had been like him. She had been stuck. She had told herself over and over that her success was enough. She told herself that she was bringing light and happiness into a world that sorely needed it, and that it _should_ have been enough--but it never was.

_You were the song stuck in my head_

_Every song I've ever loved_

_Played again and again and again_

_And you can get what you want but it's never enough_

Glit reached out to again begin spinning Rosanna, the two playfully and sweetly moving about each other. The song was coming to an end soon, their last round of dancing together full of energy, of celebration for this moment, of the future they now had a chance of having. 

_And I'll spin for you like your favorite records used to_

_And I'll spin for you like your favorite records used to_

_I'll spin, I'll spin, I'll spin, I'll spin_

_For you, for you, for you, for you, for you_

Rosanna popped up for Glit to catch her in his arms as he drew out the last note of the vocals, the femme looking down at him from the hold and perch he had created for her. The music continued around them, Glit lowering her ever so slightly so their helms could touch, their optics shuttering the moment the song ended and the lights cut to black.

The crowd erupted into a roar of cheering. During practice at her urging, he jokingly had hustled towards offstage with the femme in his arms, bringing practice to a halt with them in a fit of laughter. Now, the helicopter build smoothly let her slide down and they both ran off the stage hand in hand before the lights came back on, Rocksteady’s voice rising above the crowd.

Venting hard, the femme stopped after they entered the zone that was safely backstage and away from cameras or mics, turning to look up at Glit. The mech smiled down at her, exhaling a laugh. The stagehands cast glances at the two and between each other, knowing better than to say anything for the time being.

Both Rosanna and Glit wanted to say more to each other, but they knew after tonight they’d have all the time they’d need to catch up. They were still holding hands, not quite wanting to part. “Guess you gotta get back to the box, huh?” The mech motioned with his helm out to the noise of the show that continued on, his gold optics not leaving hers. 

Rosanna nodded her helm, continuing to vent to get her systems back to a more normal rhythm. “Yeah, in a moment,” she replied. “Even I need to take a breather after a performance,” she laughed. 

Glit was in the same state. He hadn’t gone for as long as she had, but he was still working to even out his venting. With a huff of a laugh he lowered his helm. “Guess this is it, until after the show?” His gold optics peeked at the small femme, as if asking her to confirm that she still wanted to talk with him later. 

Rosanna smiled sweetly at him. She reached out her hand to take his one more time, squeezing it assuringly. “Until after the show. I’ll see you then.” She resisted the urge to touch his face with the same assurance, but she didn’t want to risk making even more of a scene than they already were. “Good luck, Glam.” She released his hand, slowly backing away. 

This was almost over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, everyone does their solos and the winner of Cybertron's Brightest will be announced... 
> 
> Stay tuned!


	21. What About Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cybertron's Brightest comes to a close, but we're one chapter out from the end. 
> 
> And the winner is.... 
> 
> The songs featured this chapter are "Girl on Fire" by Alicia Keys, "Believer" by American Authors, and "What About Us" by P!nk. (specifically, acapella, a version you can hear here, if so inclined: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w9VPqigiwx4 )
> 
> Also, I support the idea that Rosanna has a history of upper-cutting people in the face.

“I don’t think I’ve had the chance to tell you about the time she broke my nose.  _ On purpose _ .” Sundor saw a chance to talk about Rosanna while the attention was focused on the panellists’ box instead of the stage. The femme wasn’t here to defend herself, so he took the opportunity when he realized it had presented itself. The mics were still feeding audio to the audience in the studio, who often enjoyed the panelist banter between stage resets and breaks.   
  


“Shut up, no she didn’t,” Rocksteady laughed with incredulity while turning to the mech next to him. The host had temporarily taken Rosanna’s seat while she was performing the duets with the contestants, taking up banter with the other panelists while they were on break and waiting for the femme to return. “Not our dear sweet Rosanna!” 

“The reason I was reminded was watching her perform with Glam. She may have convinced the world it was an accident, but she didn’t convince  _ me _ .” The handsome seeker shook his helm. 

Jazz leaned forward over the table and turned his helm to look at the flyer, propping his chin on the back of his fist. “Okay, but did you deserve it?” 

Sundor mocked offense, and placed a hand on the amber hued glass of his canopy. “Never. We were dancing and she jumped and slammed her fist into my face. My  _ face. _ ” He aggressively pointed at his nose, specifically. “Of course she said it was an accident, but never to my knowledge has she ‘ _ accidented _ ’ that forcefully again.” He threw up air-quotes. 

“A broken nose for the sake of art isn’t much to complain about.” Crosscut chimed in, potentially gearing up to tell his autobiography. 

“Maybe for  _ you  _ it’s not. You do well for being ugly.” Sundor’s quip was quick, cutting, and decisive. He hadn’t even turned to look at the former senator. There was an extra loud bark of laughter from somewhere in the audience that sounded incredibly similar to Roadrage’s. 

Jazz began laughing into his hand, the mech’s shoulder’s shaking as he tried to contain the noise. The femme in question finally made her appearance, walking up the steps to the panelist’s box. “Ah, now I see what happens when I’m not around to keep you boys civil.” 

She walked casually behind the crew, stopping next to Rocksteady, who had already gotten up to gesture to her seat. “For you, my dear.” 

Rosanna sat down and thanked him sweetly, turning calmly to Sundor, having had the audio feed going while she was recovering from the performance and making her way back. Historically, the femme had always denied the incident Sundor was referring to had been anything but an accident. Right now, however, she felt oddly empowered and inspired to bring the truth to light. It was a secret to no-one that Sundor was something of a horrendous diva when it came to working with staff and fellow performers. It was true that, when the mech was being an absolutely insulting jerk to her and staff while they were working on a routine together, that she may have seen fit to strategically uppercut her fist into his face. Oddly, since then, Sundor had been a lot nicer to her.

“Sundor?” She tapped his shoulder and beckoned him to come closer, raising her hand to gesture in faux whispering, not bothering to mute her mic. “I’d do it again.” She playfully and gently bumped a fist against his chin with a cutesy, audible “boop”. Jazz seemed entirely entertained by the exchange and chuckled, but Sundor wasn’t given much of a chance to react before Rocksteady started back up on bringing the audience back to attention on the show. 

Rosanna was still recovering from the high of performing and from reliving the experience of being up on stage with Glit. She was looking forward to how the rest of the evening was going to pan out--she knew how hard Windy and Jetsetter had worked on their final performances, but she was entirely distracted by the knowledge that Glit was going to be revealed to the world. Glit was exhausted--Rosanna could see and feel it wearing at his edges, and he was ready for this all to be over. Once tonight was done, they didn’t have to pretend or hold back anymore. They had a real chance to be together again.

Glit had been through so much, and all she had to go on was the fact he was even competing in a show like this, along with the snippets of truth he allowed to be glimpsed in his performances. She knew him, or at least she felt she still knew him. Her chest was tight thinking about the idea of him going through everything alone with his staunch views and morals that had put him at odds with the war in the first place, and how hard that would have been for him. Rosanna hoped she was wrong, and that life had managed to show some kindness to her friend. If not though, Glit was here now. That fact tugged at her spark, loosening the tightness in her chassis as the hope of banishing her own loneliness grew. 

She felt a gentle nudge from Jazz in her distraction, causing her attention to stray to the black and white mech. His optics tracked different points on her face, clearly taking in the minute tells. It was uncomfortable not knowing how much he could gather with such a read. He was looking at her expectantly, gesturing towards the stage with a nod of his helm. “You doing alright?” His mic was cut so as not to show up on the audio feed--clips were still being played up on the monitors while Rocksteady was speaking to the audience, but they were nearing the time for Windy to start her performance.

Rosanna shook her helm lightly as if to dispel her thoughts, then motioning a nod to him in response as she vented. “Yeah, sorry. Just intense about tonight, is all,” she replied honestly. “Thanks.” 

Jazz’s optics narrowed slightly behind his visor and the corners of his mouth turned down in a small disbelieving frown, but the expression slipped away as Rocksteady pitched his voice louder to grab the attention of other audience members who may have spaced out during his talking. 

“And without further ado, the femme that’s set all our sparks aflame and inspires us all to be all that we are-- give it up for Windy, with ‘Girl on Fire!’”

At that, the crowd applauded and Windy stepped out onto the stage, which was unusually dark for how her performances typically began. Small sparks of light trailed after her with each step she took thanks to the use of magnetic hologram projectors that were strategically placed on her frame, making her way to front and center stage and she started to sing. 

Her voice was smooth and controlled, both gentle and powerful, immediately drawing in the audience to listen. Colors of orange and pinks, purples and reds began to pulse around the flooring and monitors that backed and surrounded the stage as she sung, bringing more and more light to the femme. The sparks around her began to grow, flickers of holographic fire starting to lap at her heels and trail down her arms. 

_ Oh, she got both feet on the ground _

_ And she's burning it down _

_ Oh, she got her head in the clouds _

_ And she's not backing down _

_ This girl is on fire _

Windy’s entire frame erupted into searing flames before the audience, flickers of orange and red dancing across her plating as her voice lifted from her chassis to resound throughout the room, belting out the lines of the chorus. There was a rustling of awe that moved through the crowd at the effect. 

_ Looks like a girl, but she's a flame _

_ So bright, she can burn your eyes _

_ Better look the other way _

_ You can try but you'll never forget her name _

_ She's on top of the world _

_ Hottest of the hottest girls say-- _

Rosanna watched on, optics bright as she cradled her chin in her hands. This femme was  _ amazing _ . She had started out strong in the competition, and had only grown more week after week. The crowd was still struck, absolutely enamored by the femme’s presence. She exuded confidence, her entire being thrown into the passion of the song, feeling the words to her core. Rosanna was so, so proud, and although she didn’t want to count out Jetsetter or Glit, she had a growing feeling she knew who was likely going to come out as the winner tonight. 

_ Everybody stands, as she goes by _

_ Cause they can see the flame that's in her eyes _

_ Watch her when she's lighting up the night _

_ Nobody knows that she's a lonely girl _

_ And it's a lonely world _

_ But she gon' let it burn, baby, burn, baby _

Windy’s song concluded with a soft, sweet note, a gentle lead out that faded with the flames, now surrounded in bright light and color instead of the dark she first emerged from. After a brief moment of silence the femme exhaled, smiled, and took a bow. The crowd surged to their feet, people applauding and giving deafening cheers. Rosanna and the other panelists, too, jumped to their feet, the small femme cheering and whistling. Windy looked up and out at the crowd, her optics bright with emotion and pride, still grasping at her success, her seized moment.

Tonight, the competitors weren’t expected to stick around for commentary. It was time for the audience to make the decision of who should win on their own without the influence of the panelists. The people in the studio and at home were the ones they needed to appeal to the most, and right now, they were in love with Windy. The femme blew a final kiss to her audience before striding offstage, pride and confidence following her with every step.

Rocksteady closed out her performance and led them into a break to give stagehands and staff time to set up for Jetsetter’s song. 

“Can we still say who our favorite to win is or would that be in bad taste?” Crosscut was still soured over the seeker’s earlier jab at his appearance and that showed in his tone, but he amiably tried to move forward. The silver mech put his hand over the top of his short glass, picking it up as he swirled it lightly. 

“Nooo, you might influence people’s opinions if you do! And it’s in bad taste,” Rosanna replied. She raised her hand up to her mouth again, leaning back in her chair to look around Sundor at the older mech. “But you can say who you want to win off-mic.” 

The former senator brought his glass down to rest on the button that muted his microphone. He leaned back to look at the femme, “I’d like Jetsetter to win.” The idea seemed to come out of the blue. Crosscut hadn’t previously said anything too in favor of the mech or too against to have given his bias away. Rosanna tilted her helm in surprise at the confession, but her view of the mech was quickly blocked off by Sundor’s wings. The flyer was clearly aggravated by the conversation being had around him. Noticing his agitation, Rosanna redirected her attention to him. 

“Who would you like to win?” Rosanna asked, still speaking off-mic. 

Sundor’s wings relaxed a smidge as he was mollified by being addressed. “I’m here for Windy. She might burn out if she’s not careful, but she’ll put on a great show until she does. Brightest stars, and all that.” That wasn’t entirely surprising to Rosanna--she knew the mech had a soft spot for the femme as soon as she mentioned he was a long time idol of hers. More than that, however, he recognized how important this competition was to Windy, for her identity and her future. There had been an underlying understanding and support the mech had for her, and it was a nice reminder that Sundor wasn’t  _ always _ a jerk. 

“Don’t look at me, I ain’t saying nothin’,” Jazz chimed in before anyone could ask him. “I’m just here to enjoy the show and see what happens.” The mech again shot a brief flick of his optics to Rosanna. He was a hard mech to read, but he was picking up something from her, and it made her nervous. 

“What about you Rosanna? You and that helicopter had quite the chemistry on stage.” Sundor was still muting his mic. He leaned and gave her a smirk, Rosanna leaning in to match him, though her smile was genuine rather than taunting. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Glam is incredibly talented, but I’m honestly with you in wanting Windy to win this,” she replied matter of factly. “Jetsetter would be my second choice, but I think what they’re expecting out of the winner would kind of run him ragged. He’s so free-spirited and lively, I wouldn’t want him to lose that by being contracted into a box, you know? And I think he’s going to still be able to do what he wants to, even if he gets second or third place.”

At that, Rocksteady’s voice broke into their conversation to bring people back into paying attention. Jetsetter’s round was about to begin, and the host was gearing up and hyping the audience for the upcoming performance.

“You all know him as the jet next door, the flyer you’d introduce to your amicas--the mech that’s had us laughing, crying, and cheering all at the same time, everyone give a big round of applause for Jetsetter, singing “Believer!” 

The mech jogged out onto the brightly lit stage, one of his hands carefully holding the guitar that was slung over his shoulder to his chassis. He made his way to the stage front, waving to the crowd enthusiastically. Rosanna noted the guitar’s presence again with its beaten and imperfect finish--the instrument he inherited from his friend during the war. It tugged at Rosanna’s spark now that she knew its significance. Even though his friend had passed long ago, the memory of him was here to witness this with Jetsetter. 

“Hi everyone! Hi!” The mech was practically radiating with excitement, his entire being alight with a joyful energy. “I wanna thank everyone for helping me get here. It’s kinda hard to think this is going to be my last time playing on this stage for you guys, and it’s just been. It’s been a ride. I didn’t know I’d make it all the way here to the end when I started out, so again, I just want to thank you for giving me this chance.”

“I also want to take the opportunity to be honest with everyone again. Not everyday you get the chance to get up on a soapbox as big as this one, heh.” He rubbed the back of his helm as he began fiddling with his guitar, laughing somewhat sheepishly. “We’ve’ come a long way, haven’t we? But even though we’ve made a lot of progress, I know we can always be making more. We can always strive to do more,  _ be  _ more. We all deserve to be happy, to live in a better world--and we’re getting there.” He was smiling at the crowd of people, looking around at the sea of mechs and femmes in an optimistic, almost pleading way. The jet walked along the front of the stage, reaching out to shake hands with people that reached out to him.

“I see it in everyone.” He gave a particularly charming smile to a pair of mechs he came across that still had some traces of paint that said ‘Just Junx’d’ scrawled across their windows. “I saw it when we first came back to Cybertron. I saw it when we were all working to rebuild, to make our planet  _ home _ again. And I see that drive still every single day as we change, as we grow. We become better.” He stopped his walking, taking his stance back at center stage as he paused to look out at everyone, smiling softly. 

“No matter the outcome tonight, I want you all to know that I’m always going to be moving forward. And I think that’s something we should all strive to do. We aren’t perfect, but y’know, that’s honestly the beauty of us. And I think we’ve started to learn that, I honestly, really do. I believe in this future we have, in this future we’re making. I believe in us, and you should too.” 

Jetsetter raised his hands above his helm and started clapping, getting the audience to join in to the rhythm he set. With a big smile he lowered his arms, backing up as he began to play his guitar and sing. 

_ I'm just a believer that things will get better _

_ Some can take it or leave it _

_ But I don't wanna let it go _

The monitors behind Jetsetter came to life, showing footage and clips from when everyone first started coming back to Cybertron. Mechs and femmes from either side of the war and neutrals all gathered together in the same spaces, working together. There were clips of construction, of people allocating resources and fuel that were all set to the sound of the upbeat music and Jetsetter’s sweet and optimistic voice.

_ I'm a little bit sheltered _

_ I'm a little bit scared _

_ I'm a little bit nervous _

_ I'm goin' nowhere _

_ I'm a little bit jealous _

_ I'm a little bit slow _

_ I'm a little bit hurtful _

_ And I don't wanna let it go _

Newer shots began to show up on the screen, ones that had Jetsetter out around the city either filming things himself or being urged into shots with other people. One had him with a classroom full of mechs and femmes of all sizes and makes, two of the mechs moving in to sandwich the flyer in a hug. Another clip showed him singing along in a group of construction workers that were building what appeared to be a new community center. More and more images and shots were shown displaying the progress and enthusiasm people had, the progress they had made in rebuilding their home and uniting as a people. 

_ Maybe when I get older _

_ And I'm in the ground _

_ Weights off my shoulders, _

_ It was bringin' me down  _

_ I've never been that lucky _

_ I've never tasted fame  _

_ I'm always lookin' for somethin' _

_ But I hate changing _

Rosanna remembered Jetsetter asking her if he could borrow her drone to capture some footage for his last performance--to which she of course said yes, being intensely curious to see what he had in mind. Seeing the shots he put together made her optics singe a little at the corners behind her visor, the femme smiling with pride. 

_ It doesn't matter what is out there _

_ My head is spinnin' and I won't bail out _

_ It doesn't matter what is out there _

_ 'Cause time fades _

_ There's no space _

_ As life breaks new ground _

Jetsetter was so  _ good _ . He intensely, furiously wanted life to be better, brighter, and happier. He didn’t want people to forget what they came from, the struggle they faced or disregard how  _ hard  _ change was-- but he saw the infinite potential in the people and in the world around him, and wanted to make sure others saw that vision for themselves. That feeling resonated throughout the room, and it had the audience singing along with him through the repetitive chant of the chorus.

_ I'm just a believer that things will get better _

_ Some can take it or leave it _

_ But I don't wanna let it go _

_ I don't wanna let it go! _

The song ended on his last word, the room momentarily lapsing into the briefest of silence before the audience responded to the mech in an uproar of cheering and applause. The room felt buoyant, there being an elated energy that coursed throughout the crowd. Jetsetter’s optics became brighter, paler, and he beamed as he moved a hand to press the guitar close over his spark. 

“Thanks again everyone!” He gave his farewell above the noise of the crowd, a tearful crackle of emotion breaking into his voice. He gave one final wave of his arm at the audience before making his exit off the stage.

* * *

Glit was sitting on a crate in the backstage area as Jetsetter did his performance. The contestant lounge had been turned into an interview room for after the show, and he planned to avoid that until he couldn’t any longer. Windy was keeping them busy enough. His hands hung between his knees and he traced the joints of one hand with the fingers of the other as he thought. He wasn’t going to have much time to think before he had to take the stage. The song he was performing held a lot of sadness and anger. Following the optimistic tones of Jetsetter’s performance it probably wouldn’t be well received, and that was perfect. He didn’t want to impress anyone anymore. 

The maroon and teal flyer came back stage and Glit was ushered up by one of the crew. They passed by each other briefly and the emotion on the jet’s face was apparent. He paused and reached out to clap the MTO on the shoulder. “You did great.” Jetsetter nodded furiously and pushed a smile forward. Glit really hoped he would land himself in third, and the younger mech would get the opportunity to do music full time. Knowing Rosie, she would probably support Jetsetter’s ambitions if she had to. 

The crowd was still going with the applause for Jetsetter even though the stage was darkened as Glit made his way down a small set of stairs to the area beneath the stage. Rocksteady was working on placating the crowd and giving the introduction for the last song of the competition, but not the last song of the night. That honor would go to the winner. Glit stepped on the hoverplate that would lift him up onto the center of the stage. He briefly wondered why they hadn’t used this before, and realized it was probably cause he was too dumb to ask and the choreographers probably hadn’t wanted to wear out a gimmick. 

The hoverplate lifted him up, and it clicked into place flush with the stage. As he could see the audience now, and there was only minimal sound as hushed anticipation of his performance fell, it sunk in fully that he had not really participated in a full run through of his final performance. He hadn’t wanted to. This was the last time he planned to perform in this frame. There were no dancers. There weren't even any accompanying visuals or musicians. He started on the dark stage. His visor and optics dimmed as he metered his venting. The singer was alone. 

The counter for the song started although no music played. The only instrument on stage for this was going to be his voice. His mark came and there was an audible click as the spotlight came down on him as well. He lifted his head as he started to sing. 

_ La da da da da, la da da da da _

_ Da da da _

His plan for this song was to stay put. He would not be dancing. He wouldn’t be interacting with the crowd. In his interview he said he was there to keep a promise, and at that time he was talking about his clinic--and his future. Glit realized that he had to hold himself to the promise he had started to make through the competition. He was here and could make people like himself be seen and heard. His voice sounded tired and stressed, and Glit didn’t try to change that. There was a part of him that felt  _ that _ tired and _ that  _ stressed

_ We are searchlights, we can see in the dark _

_ We are rockets, pointed up at the stars _

_ We are billions of beautiful sparks _

There was a bit of hardening in his optics and his hands clenched. For the last line of the opener his voice was firm. 

_ And you sold us down the river too far _

_ What about us? _

_ What about all the times you said you had the answers? _

Glit remembered all the promises their politicians and leaders had made. Things were going to be different. Things were going to be better. They were in a better place now for all they had been through, and what happened before wasn’t going to happen again.

_ What about us? _

_ What about all the broken happy ever afters? _

He thought of the bar owner that let him rest in a bin under the counter after he lost his job. The only way that mech had managed to retain his bar was because of a counterfeit but functional filter part Glit had made on a fabricator at the hospital, or else he wouldn’t have passed inspection and be allowed to operate. He thought about Jetsetter being an MTO that was doing who the frag knew what instead of pursuing music. He thought about the people he’d done repairs for on the sly because they didn’t want to explain what they had done to get those injuries, when it was mostly unapproved work just trying to get ahead. They were doing what they could for just a chance at their dreams. 

_ What about us? _

_ What about all the plans that ended in disaster? _

_ What about love? What about trust? _

_ What about us? _

There was some anger that seeped into his voice. It would be noticed. Everything about him was on display as it was the only point of interest. The white mech gestured at his chest. He was part of the ‘ _ us _ ’.

_ We are problems that want to be solved _

_ We are children that need to be loved _

_ We were willin', we came when you called _

That was the line that had sold him on this song. Glit felt that line. After the war, after everything was done and the people leading their society forward had put out the call to come home, but only if you wanted peace, he showed up. It wasn’t an easy trip, but he made it willingly. He checked in. The sigil on his shoulder was scoured off. He turned his kits and sub-space pockets out to prove he had no weapons. Glit joined the teams working to remove built-in weapons and disabling violent gimmicks, that had been concocted during the most brutal moments of their history, from the newly returned citizens. There was nothing more he wanted than for that war to be done and to move on. Each bit of machinery added to that rubbish pile was a part of that war and grim legacy gone. 

_ But, man, you fooled us, enough is enough, oh _

_ What about us? _

Glit sang and the accusatory nature of the song became all the more apparent. His exhaustion and compassion were laid bare for anyone watching to see. This round of the lyrics were louder. His optics were brighter and a little paler behind the gold tint of the visor. He implored people to listen as he had so many times during the war. He still felt small, although for the competition he had been placed in an average frame. He still felt like he had to shout to be heard. The cassette he was on the inside wasn’t sure if he would ever feel differently. His hand sat on the center of his chest, holding that pose a long moment, before slowly, almost disparagingly, letting it drop. 

_ Sticks and stones, they may break these bones _

_ But then I'll be ready, are you ready? _

He had to think about how his reveal would be taken. Glit had deliberately sexualized himself at the beginning. His initial plan had been to make them  _ want _ him, but it had been too easy and just made him angry. It brought into focus for him the double standard that had just become part of the static of his existence. There would be a backlash at his reveal, and further backlash at his decision to return to his original frame. People would be mad at the deception. They would be mad at the idea that they could like someone like him. They would be mad at him for not upholding their ingrained beliefs that his original frame-type wasn’t as good as Glam. He was ready for that. 

_ It's the start of us, waking up, come on _

_ Are you ready? I'll be ready _

There was a hint of cajoling in that line. He was asking them to join him. He wanted them to be aware of their bias. Glit and everyone else in the ‘ _ us _ ’ was ready whenever the rest of their society managed to get their heads out of their tailpipes. 

_ I don't want control, I want to let go _

_ Are you ready? I'll be ready _

_ 'Cause now it's time to let them know _

_ We are ready, what about us? _

There would be a different meaning applied to this song after his identity was known. He would be leaving this competition with more than he had ever thought possible. Glit was glad for how hard the spotlight made it for him to see the audience. He was almost done. It was unlikely anyone would be able to drag him onto another stage for sometime and that was fine. He had plans after this. He would open his clinic. He would keep his promise. 

Glit was going to be a doctor. He’d treat anyone. He would help the beastformers, the MTOs and the veterans of both sides that had trouble scrounging a life in this peace. The mech knew what his answer was. It was love for his fellow bot. He knew about broken happy ever afters, but as a medic, he knew most of the time what was broken could be repaired. He knew things might not work out. He might be too much of a disaster to make it work, but at least he did everything he could. Glit had to trust in himself as he had when he signed up for this competition. 

_ What about us? _

His voice faded out as did the spotlight on him. The helicopter’s shoulders dropped and he realized there was some truth to the exhaustion, anger, and stress in his voice. He was so close to being done and so close to being able to flop face down onto his berth. He would welcome that blissful ability to not exist for a small time. Glit received a prompt on his visor’s HUD that reminded him to exit the stage to his left. 

* * *

  
  


The last break passed as the stage was cleared and set for the final announcements to be made. Rosanna and Rocksteady stood off center at the front of the stage, it having been decided that the most interactive of the panelists during the competition should play a part in revealing the winners. The femme stood next to the mech with quiet anxiousness.

This was it. This was the end of “ _ Cybertron’s Brightest _ .” The votes had been gathered, and voting had closed during the break; everyone’s placement set and decided. Rosanna looked out to the side of the stage where Windy, Jetsetter, and Glit would soon be emerging to have their fates revealed to them. The evening had both dragged on and flown by in a blur, and the proceedings afterwards were going to as well. The three would go backstage for their final interviews, and the proceedings for the winner would start rolling from there. The winnings would be arranged and presented over the next few days. Those who wished to be returned to their frames would be returned, and that would be that.

As excited as she was for Windy and Jetsetter right now, and despite how guilty she felt about it, almost all she could think about was how badly she wanted to be with Glit. She wanted the last thing keeping them apart to be done. She wanted to hold him and see his face--his actual face. As she was in thought, the crowd broke into applause as the three filed in to line up at back centerstage. The cameras weren’t going yet, but they were getting everyone in place and at the ready to close out the show.

Rosanna waved over to them all, her optics lingering a moment longer on Glit than the others. He looked both tired and relieved, Jetsetter leaning over to pat his shoulder in assurance while Windy leaned in to say something. They were given their cue that filming was about to resume, and the femme snapped to attention as Rocksteady began to intro the show one last time.

“And we’re back on  _ Cybertron’s Brightest _ ! The songs have been sung, the votes have been counted, and we’re now underway in our final moments here on this stage. Everyone’s been waiting for this, and at long last, we’ve made it. Glam, Windy, and Jetsetter have all anxiously been awaiting the outcome for tonight. They’ve put their sparks and gears into this competition, and you’ve all been here with us to witness their journeys. I know you’re all anxious to get things underway here,  _ especially  _ our singers, so I won’t drag on for too long. Let’s hear it for our outstanding contestants, everyone make some noise!”

The host gestured his arms to encourage the audience, trying to play up the energy and anticipation in the crowd.

“Now, they can’t all win first place unfortunately, so we’re going to reveal our third place contestant first. For this, we’re doing things a little differently. Usually we tell you who’s going home and then we play their exit video--HOWEVER. This time, we’re going to let their interviews play first. Just when you thought we were getting predictable,  _ HA! _ ” 

The femme vented with excited and anxious anticipation, turning slightly to gesture to the large screen at the back of the stage. “And so, without further ado…our third place winner, everyone.” Rosanna gestured to the screen as the crowd applauded, the noise simmering into a quiet as the lighting dimmed and the large screen behind the three contestants came to life. 

It was him.

The face of a white feline cassette lit up the screen. The angles of the shot were a little off, as if the camera mech was a little unfamiliar with how to frame the quadruped. His optics were over-bright, his stress showing both in the lines of his face and in the wear at the corners and seams of his frame. He looked tired, like someone who had woken up and forgotten they had an interview that day or simply didn’t have the time, funds, or energy to clean themselves up. He looked the roughest out of any of the contestant reveals so far, and it was abundantly clear that life had not been kind to this mech. Rosanna felt a prickle of filament at the edges of her optics as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Hey.” Glit lifted a paw to address those watching. “You know me as Glam. I know, I’m not probably what you expected or wanted. That’s not the first time that’s happened.” The feline smiled, a quirk of a toothy grin--one Rosanna had seen many times long ago. “My name’s Glit of Sistex, and I’m a cold-constructed, pacifistic, former-Decepticon, beastformer cassette--” he turned to flash the cross on his shoulder, a motion he was familiar with doing in introducing himself, “--medic. Alright, I think that covered it.” He turned his shoulder back to be properly facing the camera, thoroughly pleased with himself through his exhaustion.

“I’m hoping if this is being played I made it to the top three for two reasons. One,” he held up a digit with the claw extended for emphasis, “I live with prejudice everyday because of what I am, and I’m hoping doing this might help a few people realize that I’m not that different. I live, work, and play in this frame just like anyone else. Two,” he put up a second digit, “this competition came into my life at the right time. I lost my job, and I needed this opportunity.” 

He rose a paw to gesture lightly as he spoke. “During the war, I fixed anyone, no matter the side, no matter the build, and that got me in trouble with pretty much everyone. I hope to get the prize winnings and start my own clinic to continue what I did during the war. There is a lot of good I can do out there.” 

The off-screen interviewer had a confused tone to their voice. “So, you’re not wanting to actually, well, win? The contract? The music deal?” 

Glit ducked his helm and shuttered his optics with a chuckle. “No, I don’t want to win.” He shook his helm. “I’m here for the money so I can help people, and again maybe help drive home that people like me are the same as everyone else. I’m sure there will be other people who will want to win a lot worse than me and will deserve it more.” 

“Anything else you wanna say before we sign off?

“Well, I guess if I don’t make it, at least I tried. Sometimes that’s all you can do.” 

The spotlight was shining down on Glit, the audience hanging suspended in a brief moment of silence as the mech ducked his helm and waved. Rocksteady stepped in to direct people in how to properly react.

“Everyone put your hands together for the third place winner of  _ Cybertron’s Brightes--woah!”  _

Rosanna was off like a shot, trails of filament spilling out from beneath her visor. Before she could stop herself, before anyone could say anything else, the femme ran to Glit, the mech only having a moment’s notice to catch her as she jumped into his arms. He caught her against his front, and a honest, wholesome smile blossomed on his face. It was big, wide and toothy. Rosanna laughed and, with a smile, wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. 

The display sent a ripple of excited and confused cheering from the crowd. “I--well then,” Rocksteady laughed. “You’ll get your chance to read more about that in the gossip column!” 

Rosanna pulled back from the kiss, moving a hand up to gently cup the side of Glit’s face. “Later,” she spoke quietly, taking in the mech’s own tearful smile. The helicopter mech steadied himself a brief moment as he looked into her optics. He nodded shallowly and mouthed ‘later’ silently, before letting her down carefully. The femme took Glit’s hand in her own, turning to look to Rocksteady. 

“Well, okay! Uhm, thank you for being here with us, Glit, and for showing us all that you are. I’m pretty sure moments like this is what this show was made for. We’re grateful for the time and talent you shared, and we wish you the best moving forward to opening your clinic, and the success you’re going to meet along the way--and the best in the time it seems you two are going to share.” He gestured with a good natured grin to the two, Rosanna giving a light swing of their still clasped hands and a cute sway of her shoulders. “Before we say goodbye to you from this stage, is there anything more you’d like to say?

“Thanks. Thank you for letting me get this far. For giving me my clinic. For helping me so much.” His voice was rough after doing more singing than he usually did in a night and at that point, mostly emotion. Rosanna felt him squeeze her hand back. “To the audience, thanks. To the crew, thanks and thanks more for dealing with all my stupid quirks and requests. To Roadrage, thanks for pushing me and supporting me. I needed every bit of it. I didn’t get this far alone.” He turned to look at the two other contestants, Jetsetter and Windy. “Thanks.” 

The crowd crescendoed into applause and cheers for Glit, saving the mech from having to push more through the tears and emotions that were spilling out. 

“With that, I do believe this is goodbye for now. Congratulations, Glit, and thank you for being one of  _ Cybertron’s Brightest. _ ” Jetsetter and Windy both ran over to bombard Rosanna and Glit with a group hug, the larger femme looking between the pair with an accusatory finger, speaking off-mic with a smile and a good-natured tone. “Both of you are going to tell me about this, I  _ have  _ to know.” Rosanna laughed and nodded before the group parted, Windy and Jetsetter moving up closer to center stage. 

The small pink femme turned to look up at Glit, knowing he was about to leave the stage. She didn’t want to let go. After a moment of looking at each other his hand slid from hers with a final squeeze and walked off-stage. The femme vented. He wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t going to disappear. She’d go backstage and he’d be there, waiting for her. 

Rosanna gathered herself and moved to stand next to Rocksteady once more. The show went on.

“We’re feeling a lot of emotions in here tonight, hoo boy,” Rocksteady commented, fanning himself lightly. “And hold onto your afts folks, because we’re not done yet.”

Rosanna moved to speak, resuming her role with confidence and miraculously regained composure. “Next up, we’re about to reveal our second place winner. Both mech and femme on this stage have put their entire sparks into earning their places here. They’re both incredible, amazing people, who have so much to share with Cybertron, and I think we’re all glad to have gotten the chance to meet them. No matter what, we know we’ll be seeing more of these two in the future.” She turned to Rocksteady, gesturing for him to continue.

The mech motioned to urge the audience on again. “Now I’m going to need you all to keep this going, and let’s all get a little crazy as we head into the homestretch here. Let’s give it up for our second place winner of  _ Cybertron’s Brightest! _ ” The crowd again applauded as the lights dimmed throughout the studio, the screens lighting up as the reveal reel began to play.

A masked mech showed up on the screen. He had a dark helm, his torso colored white with red and blue accents. “OH, it’s going! Ah, okay sorry, hello everyone!” The small mech waved to the camera, his shoulders drawn up in his nervousness. “My name’s Boater, but you probably know me as Jetsetter! I’m part of the Rescue Patrol team, me and my brothers. They’re the ones that teased me into trying out and well, here I am!” The mech rubbed the back of his helm, laughing lightly. 

“Not sure how far I got to where you’re seeing this, but, well, I sure do hope you like what I’ve had to offer. I hope we’ve had a lot of fun. Music means everything to me and sharing it means even more. Since it was introduced to me,” he turned to lay a hand on his guitar that was set out next to him, “it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I’m not all sure what I’ve sung for you, but I hope, at the end of the day, I made you feel something. I hope I made you smile, made you think about someone, made you laugh, or cry?” He sounded like he wasn’t quite sure if that was a good thing. 

“Anyway, thank you for the opportunity. Maybe I’ll get the chance to play for you again sometime.” When the lights rose again, a spotlight was shining down on the mech formerly know as Jetsetter, and the crowd broke into a long round of cheering, whistling, and applause. The mech looked out at everyone with a disbelieving smile, clearly looking like he too, was about to cry. He held up the guitar, which heightened the volume of the crowd once more as they acknowledged the significance of the motion. 

Windy was stuck in something of a stupor. The announcement of Boater placed her as the presently unstated winner, and it was obvious she was trying to figure out what to do with herself in her reaction as they were giving Boater his piece. After a moment of collecting herself she moved to bring her fellow competitor into an embrace, Rosanna joining them as well. The two femmes looked at each other, nodding once before they both moved to kiss the mech on each cheek in their last opportunity to fluster him on stage. 

“Congratulations, Boater!” Rosanna cheered after her and Windy had moved to give him some space. 

“It sounds like you achieved what you set out to do! Every time you came out onto this stage you definitely made us feel something. You set out to move your audience and Boater, let me tell you, we have been moved.” The crowd cheered in response to Rocksteady’s words.

“Now that you’ve made it to the end here, what’s next for you? Surely this isn’t goodbye for good.”

“I’m going to do music! I-” The flyer looked like he blanked for a moment. “I’m going to do music! I’m going to study music and play small venues. I’ll be able to see my audience again!” 

A laughter rippled through the crowd and from Rosanna, everyone knowing how much the mech had missed being able to interact with his listeners during performances.

“I think there are a lot of small venues that are going to be  _ very  _ busy here soon,” Rocksteady chimed. “You hear that, everyone? Start getting in line now!” He shook his helm to put his humor aside. “Anyway, thank you for coming onto this show and giving us your all, Boater. You’ve left a lot of memories and your mark on this stage. You, and your brothers, should be very proud. Is there anything else you want to say before you leave the stage tonight?” 

“I guess. Keep believing! In yourself, in that things can be better. It’s not always great. Some of us are probably going through rough times right now. I’ve been there too but it can get better. Thank you, everyone.”

Rosanna led the start of the final applause, the audience going into their last round of congratulations and bidding the mech goodbye as he began to walk off stage. 

Rocksteady turned back towards the audience. “And now, I do believe that leaves us with our last announcement of the evening: the final reveal. Our winner, and Cybertron’s brightest star! You know her, you loved her week after week, someone who is always who she wanted to be — Windy!”

There was an uproar of noise from the crowd at Rocksteady’s words, the light temporarily fading as the screen behind the femme lit up for the last time. Windy seemed small as the centerpiece on the large stage, temporarily dwarfed by the image now playing behind her. The bot on the screen looked imposing, but had the same smile as the singer, the same cheery brightness in their optics and enthusiasm in their voice. The lines of panels on the bot’s arms and the cone on their back were identifiable as a railmech. 

The first sentence was a tad short as though the first half had been edited. “--it’s Windy. I’m so excited to have gotten to perform for you all.” The voice was lower, but it still sounded like Windy. There was a stark contrast between the physical form of the person on screen and the femme on stage. “It means a lot to have so, so many people backing me, to even think that might happen. When you see this, know I was on that stage giving it my all and being _ me _ . If I make it far enough I’m going to stick with the frame you’ve come to know me with, so this is the last time any of you will be seeing me this way and probably the first. Hopefully, haha.” The bot gestured to their form. “Good-bye old frame, hello the real me.”

“Everyone that helped get me there, that stuck with me week after week, you're going to be a part of me in a way you probably can’t understand. I’m so excited, nervous,  _ fluttery _ excited, because in a couple days I’ll be out in the world finally ready to take it on.” Windy made a small punching motion at the air. “Thanks for giving me this chance. I’m not going to let you down.” The recording ended and the image of the mech faded out. 

Attention was back on Windy and the crowd erupted again with enthusiasm and support for her. The femme couldn’t keep down a laugh of relief and utter joy. She came forward and gave a whole arm wave to the audience with one hand and brought the other to cover her mouth to hold the emotion in. She was doing better than either Glit or Boater in not crying.

“You did it! You  _ did  _ it!” Rosanna cheered at the femme, coming up to hug her. “Congratulations, I’m so happy for you!” The racer’s dream had come true tonight here on this stage, her hard work and passion landing her with the admiration, acceptance, and form she had always wanted. This was just the beginning for Windy. 

The taller femme bent slightly and pulled Rosanna into a tighter hug, smooshing the sides of their faces together. “We’re going to sing together again right?” Windy asked, clearly hopeful that they’d see each other more in the future.

“Um, yes absolutely?!” Rosanna laughed brightly. 

“What does the first ever winner of  _ Cybertron’s Brightest  _ have to say?” Rocksteady stepped forward to speak to the femme, giving her the floor as she righted herself again. 

She moved her attention to the audience, “I’m looking forward to what’s coming next. I can’t wait to start making my own music and share it with you all. I’m so glad to be here with you tonight. You’ve changed my life, but I think I get one more song?” The singer looked to Rosanna and Rocksteady for permission. 

“Yes, of course my dear, the stage is yours. Everyone give it up one more time for Windy!” Rocksteady backed off the stage, Rosanna following suit to give the femme more room as the intro music to her favorite performance,  _ Firework _ , started playing. Gold and fuchsia confetti started raining down from the ceiling, the femme dancing across the stage in her celebration as the crowd sang along with her. 

The smaller femme watched on, tears prickling at the edges of her optics as she basked in Windy’s victory. This is all that Rosanna had hoped for. In seeing Windy, and seeing someone coming into their own and able to chase their own dream, she felt like another piece of her own had fallen into place. This was the future she had always hoped for. It was one thing for her to achieve success, but it was something even greater to be able to help others succeed--and they were living in a time where that was possible. There was a feeling of accomplishment, of progress, that made Rosanna feel more genuinely optimistic than she had in a very, very long time. 

On the note of being optimistic, her attention strayed to the entrance to backstage. With everyone thoroughly distracted, the pink femme left the stage, her mind and spark set on finding Glit. Now, there was nothing keeping them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late posting, yesterday was really hectic for me and @wreckerbooty! Snow storm, power outage, Valentines Day... it was a lot!
> 
> But anywho, last chapter being late aside, we want to again thank you guys for reading our fic, and getting to know this cast of characters. This last chapter serves as a wrapup, but we do (at some point hopefully soon) plan on writing an epilogue <3 We'll post the update notice on Twitter and Tumblr as well! 
> 
> Thanks again, everyone. And we hope this story brought a little warmth and a little joy to you in some way, as it did for us <3

There was a magnetic draw between Glit and Rosanna, and after they reunited backstage it had been hard for the world to find reasons to keep them apart. Glit still had his responsibilities to finish out with the show while he waited for his frame to be prepared, as did Rosanna, but he went through his exit interview with her gently latched on his arm, and he accompanied her to the few events that required her attendance. They re-found their quiet evenings sitting on her small balcony looking out over the city, watching the flow of traffic and construction cranes slowly move around the buildings. For the time being, their hands had found their hold on each other, and they weren’t letting go. 

Rosanna was adamant to make the time for Glit. Recordings were rescheduled, concerts postponed, and whatever couldn’t be moved later was made less intrusive. Her intensity was endearing, even romantic to the blue and white mech, but it also had the ability to lay him bare if he let it. He wanted to be himself again. Without the competition to compel him to be someone else, the weight of the face and frame of Glam sat oddly, and made him more irritable than he would have liked. At the same time, when Rosanna softly cupped his cheek and looked into his optics, he wondered why he was even bothered by the change in frames, when this odd series of events were what brought them together again.

His original frame was finally ready, and in the following days he was cleared to be returned to it. Rosanna so badly wanted to see his face again. She had told him that she wanted to hold his helm in her hands. She wanted to lay beside him, and sit cozy against his front like she used to do. She cared for him for all that he was, not despite it. She cared for him as he was then, as he was now, and how he would be. Glit knew he’d been an idiot the first time they parted, and every time she looked at him when her hands held his face he felt a brush with that stupidity. 

It was that same loving look that greeted him as he woke up after he was placed back in his frame. His optical shutters opened, and Glit’s gold optics met her blue. The fingers of her hand curled protectively around his paw, and squeezed when she saw him wake. 

“Hey, Glitty-Kitty.” She looked a little fuzzy around the optics, her voice thick with emotion as she took in his feline face that rested against the flat of the medical berth. “Welcome back.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Glit’s mouth. He just stared a moment longer, taking in the fact that she was indeed there. Life had taken a bunch of strange turns, but now back in his frame and with more shanix in his account than he’d ever had in his life, something finally felt like progress. “Hey, Rosie-Doll.” 

“How are you feeling?” She leaned in closer, her voice soft. 

He began to draw his limbs toward his body to right himself. “I’m better than I’ve been in a while.” 

Rosanna moved her hands to cup his face, her optics bright as she took in his features. He felt the intensity of her gaze and the softness of her touch. One of her hands moved to affectionately brush his cheek, and after a moment of silence, she smiled, and closed the distance between their faces as she angled his helm to place a gentle kiss on his muzzle. 

Glit gave a mild start as he heard someone else in the room clear their throat, realizing the practitioner was standing nearby. They both chuckled at having been caught in their moment of sweetness. His vitals were checked, records were going to be forwarded, and just like that, they were free to go. He was under restrictions for the rest of the day to take it easy, but Glit was pretty sure that wasn’t going to be an issue.

As they waited for Roughstuff in the lobby of the clinic, Glit leaned into her and she in turn playfully nuzzled her face into the side of his neck. There was a small pause after the nuzzle in which they both looked to the other and with another smile, another laugh, and they kissed again. They had plenty of denied kisses to make up for, and these were just a start. 

They didn’t have anything planned for the rest of the day except being with each other, resting, and talking. They had already done some catching up but, with him back in his original frame, it now felt like he was wholly present. There had been an odd sense of being halfway somewhere else. It was hard to be open when he didn’t feel like himself, but now with his frame, perhaps it would be easier. 

Rosie had done her best to fend off her concern, and tried not to pry or press too hard with questions about his past for those few days between the competition and him being placed back in his frame. It was abundantly clear though, that she wanted to know about the time they’d been apart and about everything he had endured, more than what the glimpses of information she and the world had gleaned during the competition. He liked to think they could just both move forward, but he knew that wasn’t the case. His history was a part of him. 

They were excited to be with each other, to bask in each other’s presence again and revel in the present. They were actually  _ here _ . It felt like so much should have changed between now and then, but they both had clicked so seamlessly back into place, like lost pieces to a puzzle that remembered how they should fit.

Settling in back at her apartment, the surreal feeling of having his helm in the femme’s lap idly being fed candies while they sat on the couch dragged him into a haze. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so peaceful. He playfully lapped at her fingers, which rewarded him with small bouts of giggles and more kisses. A random assortment of music was playing gently in the background, light gently filtering into the large-windowed apartment. This felt right. It almost didn’t feel real with how  _ right _ it felt. 

His head still in her lap, he looked up at the femme who had grown quiet after her laughter subsided. Despite how happy and relieved she was, Glit could pick up on the tells of worry and weariness that tucked themselves away into the corners of her features. He shifted his frame onto his back in order to more easily look up at her. Extending his leg, he placed a paw on her front. “Hey,” his voice was soft, and barely audible over the music that was playing. “We’re here.” 

Rosanna refocused and looked down at him, taking in his features. The fingers of one of her hands moved to trace the line of his cheek. “We made it. Took us a while, but we did it.” She let out a content sigh, shuttering her optics as she spoke. “I’m still trying to get used to the fact you’re actually here.” That hint of sadness crept into her voice to tug at his spark. 

A long, deep vent of air found its way out of his chest. “Yeah. Me too.” Glit mentally was still wrangling with the changes in his life. He hadn’t yet made any moves toward actually getting his clinic more than a dream at this point. He hadn’t bought the building, or invested in the equipment needed. There was time for that later. He had been at such a low before he’d been found for the competition. Glit fought with how to continue, speaking, pausing and restarting his sentence. “I got lucky.” 

Rosanna laughed lightly, continuing to stroke his cheek as she looked down at him. “I hear that can happen.” She didn’t like the idea of him being dead--that wasn’t the case. He was here in her arms, as he should be. After years of worry, the feeling still haunted her.

“Glit… I just. I know it isn’t going to be easy, and we don’t have to go into it now, but I’d like to eventually talk about what all happened. When you’re ready.” Her hand stopped to rest cupped under his jaw. 

“I know.” The feline mech looked down and away. “I just had to make it through.” He channeled that thought again and found a little bit of peace in it. 

Rosanna leaned down to give another peck of a kiss on the nose of his muzzle. “And now you get to do more than that,” she lightly nuzzled the side of his cheek before she straightened up slightly. “I don’t think that’s the first time you’ve said that to me,” she replied with a humor in her voice. 

His gold optics looked back up at her and he exvented a short, airy chuff of a laugh. Glit pinged her the audio clip of her goodbye to him he’d kept close during the war, reminding her of her own words to him from when they had parted. “You don’t even know how much you were there for me.” 

Rosanna briefly listened, her vents hitching slightly as she realized what it was she was listening to. “Glit--” she started, already feeling the singeing of her optical filament. “I wasn’t sure if that ever got through to you.” she raised the heel of her hand to wipe at her cheek, the sudden spring of tears taking her by surprise.

Nodding, the mech rolled toward her. He moved to press his helm against her middle. “It did. I didn’t know if I’d ever speak to you again. It was the last thing you said to me.” 

She vented again, pausing briefly. “I’m glad I was able to be there in some way, even if it was just my voice.” Rosanna wrapped her arms around the mech to draw him into a close embrace, resting her helm atop his. “Primus I love you, you hopeless romantic.” 

Glit nuzzled into her neck. “I love you too.” They were words he didn’t want to skimp on this time. He found a cozy spot to rest his snoot in the crook of her neck. The feline mech could pick up on the notes of smell from the cleanser she used in the wash rack and the natural oil that was around the finer neck-workings on bipedal builds. “We’re doing it. We’re going to do what we always wanted.” He wanted to bring the conversation upward. They’d talk about heavier things another time since he made that promise. 

Rosanna comfortably rested her arms around his neck and shoulders, physically and mentally settling into the change of topic. “We are,” she replied warmly. After the competition wrapped up, Glit had told her what the promise was that he kept referring to during his interviews. She had almost forgotten that long ago conversation, and the explanation allowed everything about him participating in the show to click into place, and why it had been so terribly important for him to land a place at the top. “I want to hear more about your clinic.”

He sat nestled against her. His optics shuttered as he thought about what he had planned. “It’s going to take a lot of work. I started looking at potential places during the competition in down time before recharge, but I hadn’t settled on anything. It’s got to be where the people who need it are. I’ll have to get the equipment too. Stock the place. I  _ was,”  _ he put a small inflection on that word as his world had changed a lot since first concocting this idea, “planning on living at the clinic, being on call.” Glit’s voice was at a whisper since they were so close. “Guess, I’ll have to think on it a bit more.” There was a smile peeking into his tone. 

“I’m happy to hear you’re reconsidering that,” she replied softly. “Living where you work and being on call all the time  _ might  _ be a little stressful. Just a teensy bit.” Affection and humor were laced into her voice. “I might know a place where you can stay, if you’d like.” She knew it was forward and perhaps fairly presumptuous to ask at this point, but it felt correct. “If it won’t derail your plans of course.” She nuzzled the side of his cheek. 

“Guess it would be pretty stressful.” At the time he’d come up with that idea, it hadn’t seemed stressful at all. It had been his life for so long during the war, and honestly even before that. The idea of separating work and life was something foreign that he’d first experienced after the war and had never quite figured out how to adapt to, but he had help to figure that out now. His systems purred at the nuzzle. “I might have to take you up on that offer. I’d probably do better living with someone.” 

“I think I’d probably do better, too.” She momentarily shifted her gaze to looking outside, a wistful expression on her face. “I’m glad you’re getting to chase your dream. It’s been a long time coming, and you deserve it. You’re going to be able to help so many people that need you.”

“I hope I can.” There was a pause after that. Glit and Rosanna both took a long moment to process and calmly cycle air. They were still accepting the fact that they weren’t dependent on the existence of a storm to be together. They weren’t on begged or borrowed time. Conversations didn’t have to happen now or never. This was how it would be for them. 

Glit lifted his head off her shoulder as he remembered something, “Did Stella get back to you?” 

“Hm?” Rosanna perked up at the mention of her own prospects, her helm righting and her shoulders straightening to attention. “Oh, Astreae! Yeah, she did. I’m going to try to meet up with her soon to see if she’s still interested in pursuing a career in music. She seemed surprised I reached out to her, but excited! If she is, I’ll try and get her in contact with some connections and see about getting things lined up for her. She’s way too good to not have a proper shot at getting her music out there.” She thoughtfully tapped a knuckle against where her hand rested against Glit’s shoulder plating as he was still pressed to her front. “I messaged Vanquish and his group, but I think he might be a little upset about the competition still. A few of the others from the band reached out though, so we’ll see!” 

“If he doesn't come around I’ll message him. He might be more open to a former-con like him.” Glit soaked in her enthusiasm. “Boater is still wanting to do karaoke again.” There was another way they both came out of the competition richer, and it was in friends. Boater, Roadrage, and Windy had been around quite a bit since the finale. 

“Ah, yes!” Rosanna cheered. “I can’t wait to do that again. It was so much fun with everyone, and now it’ll be even better since, well. Everyone can be themselves, now.” She playfully tapped him on the shoulder again. “That and Roadrage doesn’t have to be a meanie and tease you about me.” 

The feline laughed loudly. “You didn’t room with her for months. She’ll still be a meanie. I think I left her on read...” Glit cringed comically, his ears flattening. 

He looked at Rosie and tilted his helm before playfully going for an exaggerated nuzzle, earning him a joyful laugh. “You always threatened to fill the world with more song. You got that.” 

“I did,” Rosanna responded warmly through giggles. “It’s really more than that, though. I’ve always wanted to help others achieve  _ their _ dreams. After what I saw with this competition, I think we’re finally in a place where I can help make that happen. I can help give people the platform and resources they need.” She petted the side of Glit’s cheek and along his head and neck. “People are ready to be out there and give it their all. They deserve to be seen and heard, and I get to be a part of that.” 

She settled into the crook of Glit’s neck. “We’re both getting our dreams. And now, I get to share it with you.” The femme tightened her hold on him ever so slightly. 

“Yeah.” It was a simple affirmative, but sometimes that’s all that was needed. Glit rested against her until she prompted for them to move out onto the balcony for the rest of the evening. They moved from the couch and her hand rested against his side as they migrated to a nest of pillows that they’d placed in the narrow space. 

Their sparks were full, the feeling of loneliness that had clung to them for so long chased away by the promise of a future together, by the warmth of each other’s forms as they rested and watched the thrum of the city below them, by the press of a nuzzle to a cheek or an affectionately placed kiss. The night was greeted with quiet singing, songs that, for the first time in a long, long time, were sung just for each other. Eventually, they might find their way back to old songs they had left unfinished, but now it was easier to just find familiarity and comfort in well-known harmonies and well-worn lyrics of songs they didn’t have to think too hard on.

The future looked bright, and they were finally home.


End file.
